Rhapsody in Scarlet
by Yumeko1
Summary: A Phantom of the Opera fic that pairs Erik with a most unusual female composer named Angelique.
1. Prologue

Prologue

1866

Deep below the stacks of marble pillars and stone bricks which would one day become the site of the Paris Opera House, frantic organ music was playing in the darkness. Its complex melodies overlaid one another, creating an endless tapestry of music that unfurled in the damp air across the misty lake. It was as beautiful as it was effortless, but the only audience to it was the odd rat that scuttled along the moldy stone embankment, twitching its wiry whiskers.

One of the rats ventured further down into the labyrinth, its nimble feet easily avoiding the traps laid to deter visitors. Raising up on its hind legs for a moment, the rat looked around. It sniffed the air quickly, then hurried along on its way. Racing along the slender strip of stone that surrounded the lake, it easily avoided the silky, grasping waters and slipped between the bars of the iron gate which appeared before it. 

Beyond the bars was a house, small but somehow entrancing to the tiny creature. Instinct told the rat that there would be food in the house, food which was a precious commodity here in the tomb-like depths of the earth. Without hesitation, the rat found a hole in the meticulously constructed house and entered.

To the rat's sensitive ears, the music was loud…almost irritating, but the notes formed themselves into strange, alluring melodies which drew the rat closer to the source of the music. Food forgotten, the rat made his way into a room where a figure sat at a huge barrel organ, working at his music as if the outside world didn't even exist. The rat moved ever closer, his color-blind eyes taking in a coffin…a canopy…a huge sheet of paper which bore strange shapes on the wall.

All at once, the music stopped as the figure sensed a presence in his home. As the figure turned, it became evident that it was a man. His face looked as if it had been twisted, though not by human hands, and his eyes found the creature easily in the darkness. The man and the rat regarded one another. Having no eye for beauty or for ugliness, the rat did not run away. Instead, it raised up on its hind legs and sniffed the air. The man laughed loudly, his deep voice ringing through the house and out over the lake.

"So, you've found your way into my home, have you?" Reaching down, the man picked up the rat, not feeling the wiry slickness of its fur. "You've ventured further than others have dared. How amusing that even a disgusting creature such as yourself could find beauty in my music." Shaking his head, he looked closer at the rat. "Ah, but who am I to talk of beauty?" For a moment, he fell silent. In that moment, a sound came to his keen ears. An odd sound, that he hadn't heard for many a year. 

Dropping the rat onto the floor, he hurried out into the darkness which surrounded his house. As he did, the rat cleaned its whiskers and scurried off to find the food it had come in search of. 

The sound was coming from the Rue Scribe, and the man fastened a flowing cape around his shoulders as he quickly made his way across the river. As he approached the Rue Scribe entrance, the sound became louder and louder. Arriving at last, he docked the small boat and departed it to follow the sound. Rounding a corner, he saw it at last. His ears had not deceived him; it was a child, crying. 

Face twisting in disgust, the man began to turn away. He had no patience for children, but the baby's lusty cry grated on his nerves. Even if he returned to his home, the sound would follow him. He had to do something about this child.

As he knelt down to pick up the baby, he realized that it was very young indeed…perhaps only a few days old. Its face was still red from the birth, eyes squeezed shut as it wailed. Hesitating for a moment, the man reached down to touch the child, to pick it up and try to comfort it. Having no practice at picking up or holding such a small child, the man struggled to find a way to pick it up before awkwardly settling the red-faced infant into his hands and looking at it. The baby did not recoil, but instead stopped crying at once as the man picked it up. After much shifting, he cradled the child into his strong arms as he had seen women do before. On closer inspection, he saw that the child's skin was nearly transparent, tiny networks of purple veins standing out like lightning through its skin. Opening its eyes, the baby revealed that its eyes were a brilliant blue, though still unfocused. Yes, this was a very young baby. For a single moment the child's eyes seemed to look directly into his, and the man was surprised. 

Amused, he wondered who would throw away such a new child. Obviously, someone wouldn't have just left the child unless they didn't want it, and he looked towards the entrance at the Rue Scribe. He could feel without a doubt that this child was unwanted, unloved, just as he was. In his arms the child was already asleep, having tired itself of crying, and the man nodded solemnly before turning back to the boat.

He had made up his mind. 

The baby slept.

1881

"Mother? Who is the Phantom of the Opera?" The girl reading the paper looked up at her mother quizzically. The woman was busy sewing the hem of the girl's dress and she looked up at her.

"Darling, you shouldn't read about such things. They'll only frighten you." Going back to her sewing, the woman shook her head. Wherever that girl had learned to read was a mystery to her, but then again, much about the girl was a mystery. The girl continued to read.

"It says he's killed two people at the Opera Populaire. Is he really a ghost?" Not waiting for an answer, she continued to read. She sighed softly. The woman who she knew to be her mother was kind and loving, but sometimes she was irritating. 

Of course, she knew the woman wasn't her real mother; many times her mother and father had told her that they were unable to have a child of their own, and that one night they had awoken to find her sitting on their step. According to their tale, she had been wearing a black mourning dress and was holding a piece of paper. On the paper was a short note, written in red ink, stating that the child's name was Angelique and that although she was very intelligent, they could no longer care for her properly. It had been painfully obvious that she was trying not to cry as the woman led her into the house, and she kept turning to glance behind her into the shadows…as if she were looking for someone. She was two years old.

Angelique had grown to love her mother and father dearly, but sometimes she wondered where she had been before she lived with them, before the night they found her on the step. Sometimes she stared for long hours at the piece of paper, pressing it to her face, trying to remember something…anything about who had brought her there, who had left her. And although she often wondered why whoever it was had left her, she knew that they had cared for her because they had brought her to such wonderful people. 

The paper was spread out before her, and her blue eyes raced over the words. Phantom of the Opera. Apparently he had been involved in not only the death of a stagehand, but also the disappearance of a lovely diva named Christine Daae. This was interesting to her, and she thought she might like to see an opera someday. But girls her age didn't go to operas, and they certainly didn't ask prying questions about Phantoms.

Folding the paper and placing it beside her father's place at the table, she hummed a soft tune as she went about her chores. Angelique wasn't sure where she'd heard the tune before, but it played over and over in her head as she prepared the breakfast and set it out for her father. 

As she poured him a glass of wine, she looked out the window over the city. Surete were crowded all around the Opera Populaire, which just happened to be down the street from her home. Perhaps if she finished her chores early, she could go see what was going on, and ask them a thing or two about this Phantom fellow.

Unfortunately, when she finally made it down the street to see what was going on, all the Surete would tell her was that it was under investigation. Annoyed, Angelique waited until they turned their backs to sneak into the theatre.

The moment she stepped into the theatre, she held her breath. It was even grander than she had first thought it would be. Everywhere she turned her eyes she saw more and more finery than she ever thought possible: velvet, marble, crystal…and gold. Awed, she dropped her head back to look up at the ceiling of the Opera House. Angels danced in rainbow hues around a domed ceiling, their wings seeming to reach across the entire ceiling, offering their protection as they enfolded the theatre and everyone in it. 

In the center of the dome was the most magnificent chandelier she had ever seen. It was accented with gold, but what made it a true work of art were the thousands and thousands of perfect crystal beads that were draped luxuriously over the whole of the chandelier. Glass globes placed around the frame contained candles, whose light caught the edges of the beads and created innumerable tiny rainbows inside each bead, and giving them the appearance of being alight with color. 

Angelique was struck with wonderment at this sight, and didn't notice the three very anxious men come in the side door of the theatre. However, they noticed her at once.

"You there! What are you doing in here?" The older one pointed at her, and Angelique froze. A younger man with sandy hair smiled at her.

"It's simply a child, gentlemen!"

"She should not be in here, Monsieur de Chagny!" The middle-aged man who stood next to him shook his head firmly. "It doesn't matter if she's an old woman!" The sandy-haired man ignored this and looked towards the girl.

"There's no need for alarm, Mademoiselle. What is your name?" He looked kind enough but he was dressed as finely as an inspector, and Angelique had no intention of going to jail. "I'm not going to hurt you." Deciding that it was probably better not to annoy an inspector, she tried to smile at him.

"It's Angelique. Angelique DuBain." Her voice was soft and shaky, and she cursed herself silently for sounding so afraid.

"Well, Mlle DuBain, it is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Raoul de Chagny, and I am quite pleased to see that someone isn't afraid to come in this theatre." M. de Chagny tossed a pointed glance at the other two men. Angelique giggled nervously as the men looked offended. The older one was puffing up like an angry cat.

"Now, really, Monsieur!"

"Do you like the opera, Mlle DuBain?" Once again he was ignoring the men, and Angelique nodded with a smile. This young man smelled quite nice.

"I have never seen an opera, Monsieur, but I believe that I would like to see one someday." Angelique had decided that she liked this man, and hoped that he wouldn't stop talking to her. The other two men were looking very cross, and she didn't want to be left alone with them. 

"Well, I'm sure you shall see one soon. But for now, we must take care of some business to insure that there will be an opera for you to see. Will you excuse us, Mademoiselle?" M. de Chagny smiled again at her, and Angelique noticed that he had very white teeth. She nodded.

"Of course, Messieurs. I didn't mean to keep you!" Hurrying towards the doors, she looked back at the three men. "Au revoir, Monsieur de Chagny!"

"Au revoir, Mademoiselle DuBain." Raoul smiled as she left, then turned back to the two men. "Was it really necessary for you to be so rude to the girl?"

"We have more important things to attend to than pandering to some brat who wanders in here," the older man grumbled, and M. de Chagny followed them towards the theatre office. 

The moment they were gone, a small dark head appeared once again in the doorway. Angelique looked up at the ceiling for one last glimpse of the magnificent chandelier. As she did, a chill went up her spine. Without hesitation, she ducked back out the door and hurried past the Surete to her house. 

For a moment, it had felt like someone was watching her.


	2. Fallen Angels

Fallen Angels

1888

"Oh, dear…Firmin, here comes that detestable woman again." Monsieur Andre shuddered as he noticed a woman coming through the door. She smiled over at them as she pulled the black hood away from her face, dropping snow onto the floor in the process. Monsieur Firmin shook his head.

"Probably wants us to look at some more of her 'music.' If you can call it that." As she approached, she narrowed her eyes at them and smiled.

"Good afternoon, Messieurs. As you have already surmised, I have come to show you some of my new pieces." Trying to hide her amusement as the managers pretended to look shocked.

"My dear Mademoiselle DuBain, we were saying nothing of the sort." M. Firmin laughed nervously as she focused her gaze on him. 

"Really." Raising an eyebrow at them, she took something from inside her cloak. "In any case, these are the fruits of my labor. I believe this time you will be pleasantly surprised by them." She handed M. Andre a sheaf of papers bound with a strip of leather. "Please tell me what you think of them. I think they would make a lovely addition to the Spring Series."

"Of course, Mlle. DuBain. We shall look over them after rehearsal and give you our decision within the week." M. Firmin smiled broadly at her as she gave him a dubious look and pulled the hood over her head. The managers exchanged a glance as she looked up at the stage to see the Corps de Ballet practicing for that night's performance.

"I am quite glad to hear that. Until then, Messieurs." Turning on her heel, she went once more out into the snow. She hadn't been gone more than a few moments before M. Andre flipped through the pages of her music.

"Does she really think we're going to put this garbage on our stage?" With a look of disgust on his face, M. Andre started towards the office. M. Firmin followed him closely, and as they rounded the corner, M. Andre tossed the sheaf of paper carelessly into the wastebasket.

"I can't believe she keeps bringing these things to our theatre," M. Firmin said, his voice fading into the distance as they went down the hall and to the office.

"Who ever heard of a woman composing a decent piece of music anyway?"

* * *

Mademoiselle Angelique DuBain hung her cloak over the back of the chair in her small apartment. She had taken great care to brush the snow off her cloak before bringing it into her home, something she never would have done for those stuck-up idiots at the Opera Populaire. They never even looked at her music, just threw it in the wastebasket as if it were common garbage. Fools.

With a sigh, she sat on her bed and took off her boots. There was a small hole in the foot of her stocking, and she lay back on the bed. Outside the window, it was snowing lightly again. Angelique let her eyes follow a few of the flakes for a moment, trying to postpone thoughts of the ever-growing chill in her room. Already it was so cold, and night hadn't yet begun to fall. She knew she really should be going to the seamstress' shop where she worked, but for a moment she wanted to think of something else. To be somewhere else, even if it was only in her mind.

Unfortunately, when she closed her eyes she could only see the same images she had seen thousands of times before. Her father, asking if she really wanted to see an opera. Of course, Angelique had said yes, and hugged him fiercely as she thanked him over and over. She remembered the scent of his cologne as he helped her mother into the carriage. And although she could remember all of this, she couldn't remember why the horses had gotten spooked. And while they were waiting for help, two men came from the shadows and demanded her mother's jewelry.

After that, the memories flooded back relentlessly. Her parents' blood spilling on the cobblestones while people passed them without a second glance. First begging for help from the uncaring shadows that walked along the darkening street, then giving up to simply hold the people she had come to know as her parents in her arms, as the breath left their bodies for the last time. She could still see the blood that had stained the front of her dress, hear her mother crying softly and her father cursing the people who walked past them without even looking in their direction.

As she buried her parents, she could feel something slipping away inside her…although she didn't exactly know what. It wouldn't be too long before she realized what it was.

Since she was only 15 years old, she had been sent to live with her aunt. Not too long after she arrived, Angelique realized that her aunt didn't like little girls. At every opportunity, she told the girl just how little she thought of her, causing Angelique to retreat further into her own little world. A world filled with beautiful melodies that she herself composed. In her darkest hours, she sometimes dreamed that one day hundreds of people would hear her music and would clap for her, shouting out praise for her creations, as she knew her parents would have.

While her boy cousins played outside, Angelique was to stay inside doing the chores her aunt had given her. The list was long, but she didn't complain, for the one time she had made the mistake of complaining, the beating had been quite severe. But it wasn't the last one she would receive. And each time her aunt struck her, it only served to reaffirm her belief that people were horrible creatures to be avoided and hated. It had finally come to the point where she much preferred to be alone than in the company of others, to hide inside a book or her own mind, even after she left her aunt's home.

With no family and no friends, she had managed to find a tiny apartment over a bakery for little rent. Sometimes the elderly couple who owned the bakery would try to give her some of their leftover bread, as they knew the extent of her poverty. But every time, she would turn them away as kindly as she knew how, not wanting to owe anything to anyone…no matter how hungry she might be.

For the first time in nearly fifteen years, Angelique looked at the bracelet on her wrist. It was simple, just a thin golden thread with a single tiny heart dangling from the clasp, no frills or pretension. Her parents told her that it had been in her pocket when they found her, and gave it to her when it would fit around her wrist without sliding off. That was the year she had turned ten. In a few days she would turn Twenty-two, and the bracelet hadn't once left her wrist since then. It had become more a part of her body than a piece of jewelry, and she often forgot that she was wearing it until it jingled against her sewing desk or got caught on the hem of a dress. 

Whoever had given her the bracelet must have cared for her, at least a bit, and as she lay back on her bed, she closed her eyes and tried to think of what they may have been like. Deep in the recesses of her memory she thought she could remember music, and someone holding her. Wispy strains of music, tenuous as a spider's silken thread drifted into her mind…she could almost recognize the notes, but they drifted away from her just as easily as they came. 

Frustrated, she sat up and tried to shake the melody from her head. These melancholy thoughts always came to her around her birthday, she should have known better than to let them in once again. Her feet hit the ground, and she became aware of the hole in her stocking again.

Putting her boots back on, Angelique reprimanded herself for allowing such childish daydreams to keep her from going to the shop, especially when she was in such great need of new stockings. 

On her way out the door, she took a quick look into her cupboard and shook her head. Unless she could get Mme Lafours to give her a bit of an advance, tonight's dinner was to be even smaller than the night before. 

The winter wind blew relentlessly over Angelique's face, the one part of her body she couldn't cover, and she grumbled to herself as she made her way down the snowy street. Of all the months to be wretchedly poor, why did it have to be December? Her boots crunched through the thin layer of snow on the cobblestones, and she tried to concentrate on each step to take her mind off the blistering cold.

The bell over the door of Mme Lafours' shop jingled softly as she passed beneath it, and the old woman across the room looked up from her sewing.

"You're late again, Mlle DuBain. This will be coming out of your salary, I hope you realize that." The old woman's eyes were as black as coals, and they seemed to bore a hole right through Angelique. She nodded.

"I understand, Madame." The woman spoke as if she was even being paid enough to call it a salary, but Angelique didn't say a thing about it. As much as she hated being around people, she had to put food on the table somehow…and there were precious few jobs for women like her.

But as she sat behind her sewing table, Angelique's mind began to wander again. While her fingers were working steadily at the hem of a beautiful evening gown, strains of beautiful music were dancing through her head. This was how Angelique wrote music; letting the melodies work themselves out in her head before they ever saw a sheet of paper. Once she had figured out how she wanted the lines to go, she would stay up for days writing it down, using every available moment she had putting pen to paper and humming to herself. This usually resulted in her being completely exhausted for days afterward, and once she even sewed the neck of a dress shut.

But something told her that this melody was going to be different. She didn't know why, but this time she had a feeling.

* * *

After the last dancer had left the stage and the doors were locked, the Opera Populaire was almost completely deserted. Completely deserted, save for one figure that was sitting alone in Box Five.

Dressed as always in an immaculate black tuxedo and felt hat, the man known to most as the Phantom of the Opera sat silently in the luxurious theatre box which was always reserved for him. Although a white mask covered for the most part his face, anyone who would take the time to look at it would know at once the pain that his eyes betrayed.

Though there was no one on the stage, an entire drama was being played for his benefit and his alone. Even now, he could see her face, hear the beautiful clear voice of his Christine Daae. The only woman he had ever loved with such passion and such abandon. But she had been taken from him by that worthless Vicomte, and what hurt most was that she had gone of her own accord. And he had let her. After all, he loved her too much to see her unhappy.

Seven years previous, he had been the most feared man in Paris…but now, he was just a man. And an unhappy one at that. His gaze lingered on the very spot where Christine had once stood. To his ears, her songbird voice still rang through the rafters of his theatre, and even though he still forced himself to attend the performances at the Opera Populaire, all he could see was Christine. Opera was becoming less and less comforting, as he spent a good part of the evening comparing the divas to Christine. This girl didn't have as clear a voice, that one was too fat, yet another was too loud. These days, he usually left the opera more frustrated than when he came. 

Perhaps it was time to start pestering those loathsome managers for more money. Although they were still paying his salary, it was continually decreasing in size. They were trying to do it gradually, putting less and less money in the envelopes each month…as if he wouldn't notice! And since he had no need for the money since Christine had gone, he hadn't felt like complaining. 

Suddenly restless, he got up from his seat and started down the back stairs toward the stage. Though he could have used the secret passages that he had laid all around the stage and Box Five, he chose to simply walk, if for no reason other than to distract himself. As he approached the stage, he happened to glance into the wastebasket. Some untidy person had neglected to empty it, and he noticed that there was a sheaf of papers lying in the bottom of the basket.

Overcome by curiosity, he reached down and picked up the papers. To his surprise, the papers were covered with music, and he looked closer at them. As his eyes scanned through the pages, he wondered in disbelief who would throw away such a finely crafted piece of music. Taking another look at it, he noted the number of accidentals and other little tricks strategically placed to catch a comfortable singer off guard, and decided it was most likely thrown in the bin by someone who was frustrated by its complexity. 

Another odd thing about the music was that he couldn't find the composer's name anywhere on it. Fruitlessly, he searched the pages over and over, but could only find a pair of initials; AD. Realizing that he didn't know of any composer named AD who would write such a piece, he was intrigued.

For a moment, the all-consuming sadness left his mind, and he began to formulate a plan to learn the name of this composer. But for that night, he decided to take the music with him. Surely he could relax by losing himself in what promised to be a lovely piece. And if anyone was capable of playing it, he was.

* * *

The door to Angelique's apartment swung open slowly, and she entered. In her arms was a package, which she set on the bed before pulling off her cloak and gloves. Tossing her gloves on the dressing table, she noted just how worn they were. Still, she had decided when she was in the shop that she needed a new pair of stockings much more than she needed gloves.

Madame Lafours had not been receptive to the idea of letting Angelique have an advance, so dinner was out of the question. Instead, she took off her dress and carefully lay it over the back of the chair as not to wrinkle it. She only had three nice dresses, and the only reason she had that many was because she managed to sneak some of the extra material out of Mme Lafours' shop while she wasn't looking to make them. 

Not having a real nightdress, Angelique stood before her mirror in her slip and carefully unbraided her hair. Waves of dark hair fell over her shoulders and tumbled almost to the middle of her back as she picked up a brush and slowly pulled it through her hair. She knew she was attractive, but had long ago resigned herself to spinsterhood. For as she knew all too well, men didn't want an intelligent, independent-minded wife, and Angelique wasn't about to change for anyone. 

Thinking it much too cold for a bath, she crawled underneath the covers of her bed and picked up a book she had found in the gutter outside the bakery. It was still a little damp and smelled a bit like mildew after drying on the stairs, but it was readable, and in her eyes, a free book was still a free book. She had no idea why someone would throw it away, but she supposed that their loss was her gain. 

It was a very good book, a fairly new one about Sherlock Holmes, and she quite liked mystery stories, although her favorite ones came from the mind of Edgar Allan Poe. Dark, worrisome stories always intrigued her, and they had ever since she was small. The story only served to add fuel to the fire of the music that was still forming in her head, and before long she was lost in the world of the book. 

When she read, Angelique completely lost track of time, and she had been reading for several hours before she realized that she was getting tired. Setting the book on the nightstand, she turned the lamp off slowly. As the flame shrank, the shadows around the bed grew taller until they overcame the room and plunged her into darkness. 

Without warning, a cold wind blew through the crack in the window, and the threadbare blanket draped over the bed was little protection. Burrowing deeper below the thin covers, Angelique sighed deeply.

How anyone could think of Paris as a romantic place was beyond her.

* * *

Far below the bed where a young woman was attempting to live through another night, the man who was once the Phantom but was now simply Erik was still awake. He had long since finished playing the piece, and was simply sitting on the bench before the barrel organ, staring at the page. 

There was no doubt in his mind that the piece was exquisite, in fact it was nearly flawless, but he couldn't resist wanting to add a few touches to it. On his better judgement, he decided against it. Whoever this AD was had certainly taken their time with it, and even if the arrangement did sound a little odd at first, it was quite possible that they had meant it to be like this. 

Turning to the section in question, Erik rested his fingers on the keyboard and began to play the notes. Lingering on the chord which had at first given him pause, a smile spread across his face, and he began to laugh. The dissonance was beautiful and horrible all at once, and he held the chord out just a moment longer to enjoy its full beauty. This piece was more than just a work of art; it was nothing less than a masterpiece. Most people had no ear for notes which at first did not seem to go together. All the tone-deaf imbeciles wanted to hear were sounds which pleased their untrained ear. The fools didn't realize that to truly understand the beauty of a piece, one had to endure a bit of discord so as to recognize the difference. 

Now more than ever, he wanted to meet the composer of this piece. The mysterious AD was becoming by the minute more and more fascinating, and it led him to wonder where this person had learned to write music. Precious few were able to write chaos as beautifully as harmony. He had to know who this person was. There was a sudden need to learn all he could about this person, even if they were never to meet face-to-face. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was growing ever closer to daylight, and picked up the music from the stand. 

It was time to be going.

* * *

Angelique hated mornings. This was one of those facts of life that no one could change, and she simply accepted it as best she could with a little light grousing. Much as she disliked working for Mme Lafours, she dressed quickly in one of her plain wool dresses and hurried to the sewing shop so she could be warm without wasting any of her own oil or wood. She was determined to save that last bundle of wood for when it got extremely cold, and of course there was always the hope that spring would arrive before she had to use it.

Mme Lafours gave her a stern look as she sat behind the sewing table and began work on a blue-striped dress that had been on her list for a month. Angelique hoped Madame wouldn't say anything about her coming in early, she did not want to have to lurk about the shops of Paris for several hours before she was allowed to come to work. Unfortunately, her luck did not hold out.

"What exactly do you think you are doing, Mlle DuBain?"

"Sewing, Madame." Angelique knew that a smart reply wasn't about to win her any points with her employer, but for once she couldn't hold her tongue. The older woman's face turned an unthinkable shade of red, and she said several things which should not even be in a well-bred lady's vocabulary before she told Angelique to get out of her shop, and not to return until she could show some respect.

Knowing that the old windbag couldn't possibly afford to hire another decent seamstress at the slave's wage she paid her, Angelique left the shop safe in the knowledge that she would return later in the afternoon, job intact.

She managed to linger in the bookstore a bit longer than she expected before the manager tossed her out, and went to a nearby café. Figuring that she hadn't had any breakfast, nor any dinner or lunch the day before, she spent her last few centimes on a cup of coffee and a baguette which she suspected was quite a bit older than a day.

As she chewed thoughtfully on the bread (no easy task, considering she had to pound it on the table to get a bit to break off the end), she wondered what she should do for her birthday. No matter how little money she had, Angelique always tried to do a little something for herself one day out of the year. For her it was either Christmas or her birthday, and living the way she did a birthday was quite a bit more special than celebrating the birth of a Lord she quite suspected was little more than a myth. 

The coffee was piping hot, and she drank it slowly to make it last a bit longer. It really was lovely coffee, and she wished she could afford another cup. Once upon a time, she thought she might have been able to flirt a second cup out of the boy who was behind the counter, but these days she was looking much too skinny to do any good. 

Giving up the struggle to crack another piece off the bread, she shoved the thing into her bag and finished her coffee. As long as she was searching for a place to hide out, she may as well go annoy the managers at the Opera Populaire. Even if they had thrown out her music, she liked to bother them until the old one started yelling at her again. She considered this to be high-class entertainment, and thought that today she might actually inquire on the price of a ticket to the opera. That would certainly be a treat for her birthday, and the old folks who ran the bakery almost always tried to slip a little money under her door as a gift. Maybe, just this once, she would accept the money. But only as a loan until she got paid.

* * *

M. Firmin Richard was having a bad day, plain and simple. First, the sets weren't ready for the opera that was premiering on Friday. Then one of the ballet dancers had fallen and twisted her ankle, forcing M. Reyer to completely rework the ballet in just one day. He knew for a fact those silly brats in the Corps de Ballet didn't have the retention for this sort of thing, and there were important people coming to Friday's performance. 

As if all this weren't enough, that piece of music that he was certain M. Andre 

had thrown out the day before was lying on his desk, looking content to be there. Irritated, M. Firmin picked it up rather roughly and tossed it in the general direction of the trash bin.

The door opened, and M. Andre came in just as the bundle of papers sailed over the bin and hit the side of the desk. The leather strip came undone, and papers flew everywhere. M. Firmin invoked several phrases which only sailors dare repeat in polite company, at which point M. Andre looked blankly at him.

"What was that?"

"That damned woman's piece! Didn't you throw it away yesterday?" M. Firmin was looking troubled, and M. Andre nodded.

"You mean Mlle DuBain? Of course I did."

"One of those blasted janitors must have mistaken it for a piece of music, then. It was lying on my desk when I came in this morning." Beginning to calm down, M. Firmin glanced at the sea of papers on the floor. For a moment he considered picking them up, but changed his mind when he saw the look on M. Andre's face. "What did you come in here for, Andre?" Silently, he begged God for it not to be more bad news. He couldn't take any more of it.

"I'm afraid it's more bad news, Firmin. The tenor has come down with laryngitis, and there is no understudy for his role."

A burning sensation had developed in M. Firmin's stomach as ignored the papers on the floor and walked out the door with his associate. God was mocking him, he was certain of it.

* * *

Seemingly out of nowhere, a man appeared in the office of the managers. When he saw the sheets of music strewn across the floor like common garbage, he could scarcely contain his outrage. These buffoons had dared to throw this beautiful music onto the ground? This was unacceptable.

Seething, Erik knelt to pick up the music. It was heartbreaking to see the piece in such disarray, and he tried not to think about it. Instead, he thought about what the managers had said about the composer.

A woman had penned this piece…this was very intriguing, and he laughed to himself as he realized it. How could he have not known that the composer was a woman? For all its complexity, the piece carried a somewhat gentler tone that most men were incapable of comprehending. Now it seemed so obvious, and he chastised himself for not suspecting it sooner.

This woman had a name, Mlle DuBain. It didn't sound familiar to him, but he hadn't heard of many women composers anyway. Still, this woman was very talented, and he wanted to let her know that someone appreciated her music. But he didn't know where she lived. This was indeed an unfortunate thing, but a way around it popped into his ever-working mind at once.

Scooping the rest of the papers into his arms, Erik disappeared as quickly as he had come, leaving no trace of himself or the music. He could rearrange the music at his leisure, as this woman had carefully numbered each sheet of music. Just another thing that should have told him at once that the piece was written by no man. Her script was very delicate and light, and she was surprisingly meticulous. 

Fading back into the darkness, he smiled. This was going to be more interesting than he could have ever imagined.

* * *

Next to Angelique's boot was a box of tiny crystal beads, each one barely large enough to fit over the needle's point. Every now and again, she would reach back to pick up a handful of the Lilliputian beads, then turn back to the work at hand with a pleased smirk. And here it wasn't even lunchtime yet.

Before she had a chance to go to the opera house, Mme Lafours had managed to catch up with Angelique and ask her to come back to the sewing shop. A woman had come in with a wedding gown which was in dire need of some new beading, and the old woman's hands weren't as nimble as they had been in the past. Of course, she had informed Angelique quite abruptly that she wasn't getting paid any more for this, but the young woman could have cared less. The shop was quite warm. She wondered if this would be of any use softening the bread.

Before long, her mind was back on the music. It was easy to do just about anything, even the complicated work of beading a wedding gown, if she could convince her mind to think about her music. When she was in one of these moods, Angelique was able to find music in just about anything she did. The rattle of the beads in the box, the soft pop and crackle of the fire, even the bride's wearied sighs sounded like an offbeat melody to her, and she managed to incorporate them into her song. Maybe if the opera tickets were too expensive, she would write herself a song for her birthday. And this time, she might actually find a piano to play it to herself on.

Sewing tiny, clear beads on a white dress can quickly become a tedious job, and Angelique was extremely pleased to hear the bride ask if they could have a break to eat lunch. As the young woman took off the magnificent dress, Angelique informed her that it was entirely possible for her to bead the dress without the bride actually being in it. This pleased the girl to no end, and she said that since the wedding wasn't for a week yet, she'd leave the dress at the shop.

The moment the girl left, Mme Lafours seemed to have one of her infrequent bursts of generosity, at which time she informed Angelique that since she had come to work before her scheduled time, she would allow her a five franc advance on her wages. For a moment, Angelique was speechless. She must have been making an odd face because Mme Lafours was looking at her as if she were a moron. 

"Are you ill, child?"

"No, Madame! Thank you ever so much, Madame!" Finding her voice, Angelique's mouth babbled on as her mind started shouting at once all the things she could do with five francs. Pictures of a real lunch, a bit of oil for her lamp, a new book, a cheap pair of gloves floated through her mind, and she didn't even notice that Mme Lafours was holding out the five franc note. 

"Here, take the thing. And don't be late this afternoon or I shall let you go for good!" With a murmur of discontent, Mme Lafours disappeared into the back where the material was kept. 

Unable to contain herself, Angelique fastened her cloak around her throat and hurried out into the snow. She knew the old bat wouldn't fire her as long as the wedding gown needed to be finished, so she took her time as she walked along the street. As she was walking towards the café to purchase substantially more food than she had eaten earlier, it began to snow again. Though the snow was light, she pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and kept walking. 

The opera house was within walking distance, and she decided to go there first. Walking through the doors of the entrance she smiled a bit, remembering the first time she had come into the Opera Populaire as a child. It was as beautiful then as it was now, and she marveled at the fact that the place hadn't seemed to change much. Same beautiful ceiling, same luxurious boxes…a chandelier which looked a bit different, but was basically the same, and of course…

"Just what I needed," an irritated voice came from the office door, and she didn't even have to turn to see who it was.

"Good afternoon, Monsieur Firmin." Same exasperating managers.

"I expect you've come to check on your precious piece?" There was a note of annoyance at the fact that she rarely, if ever, used his last name when she addressed him.

"In part, yes."

"Well I can tell you right now that we won't be needing it." Clearing his throat, M. Firmin looked up at the ceiling. "Come along, you can collect it now."

"Was there any particular reason?" Angelique asked this, even though she already knew what he was going to say. She could almost say the words in unison with him.

"Not especially. It simply isn't what we have in mind for this season." His back was turned to her, so he didn't see Angelique raise an eyebrow at him.

"At least you gave it a chance," she said sourly as he opened the door to the office. M. Firmin turned to her.

"What was that?"

"I never spoke, Monsieur." To this, M. Firmin gave an irritated look, and motioned her hurriedly into the office. "By the way, how much does this theatre charge for tickets to the opera?"

"More than you could afford, I'll wager." He spoke under his breath as if Angelique wasn't in the room, and she pretended not to notice as Firmin handed her a stack of papers that was on the desk. "Here is your music. If you would kindly take it, I have a rehearsal to attend." Angelique looked at the papers.

"Well, I am quite flattered Monsieur. But I can assure you without a doubt that I did not write Don Pasquale." With an amused look on her face, she handed M. Firmin the score. Giving her a look, he looked closer at the cover. 

"What in blazes…" M. Firmin turned back to the desk and began rummaging through a stack of papers. "I assure you, your piece was…" The memory of the stack of music flying about the room came back to him, and he laughed. "Perhaps it was just misplaced by a janitor."

"Yes, that is a possibility, isn't it." Angelique spoke rather dryly to the man, folding her arms. "Well, if you happen to find it, I am employed at Madame Lafours' Seamstress. Kindly send it along, will you?"

"Of course," M. Firmin replied with a smile. "I shall make a note of it right away." He turned to his desk, and Angelique gave the back of his overcoat an icy look.

"I'm sure you will," she said frigidly as she walked out of the office. As soon as she was gone, M. Firmin crumpled up the piece of paper and tossed it in the bin. He really did dislike that woman.

In the street, Angelique was muttering several less than ladylike things about M. Firmin's masculinity when she caught the smell of something lovely drifting from a nearby restaurant. The five franc note still in her pocket, she headed for the smell. It was almost enough to make her forget that the managers had thrown away yet another piece of music which she had neglected to make a copy of. Almost.

Sitting down at the table of the restaurant, Angelique sighed rather heavily. So much for her feeling.

* * *

Almost an hour after Angelique had left the theatre, M. Andre ducked into the office to avoid the heated bickering that had erupted on the stage between the chief mezzo-soprano and one of the ballet dancers. Knowing at once that someone would undoubtedly want him to mediate this little tiff, he escaped into the office and closed the door behind him. 

It was quiet in the office, thank God, and M. Andre sat down behind the desk. But before he could really start enjoying the peacefulness of the office, he noticed that there were two envelopes on his desk. All at once the office grew very cold, and with a shaking hand he reached over to pick up the envelope which was addressed to The Managers. It wasn't the envelope itself that caused him alarm, but the handwriting on the outside of it. 

Tearing open the envelope, M. Andre quickly scanned the letter. Unfortunately, this did not make him feel any better. Abruptly, he stood up and hurried out of the office, snatching the second letter from the desk as he did so.

Before he was even halfway out the theatre's front door, M. Firmin was looking for him. M. Andre was a bit relieved, and looked up at the other manager gravely.

"For goodness sakes, Andre, you're white as a ghost. Has something happened?" Without answering, M. Andre handed him the opened letter. "Good Lord," he breathed softly. "I thought for sure he was dead."

"I believe we can rule out that possibility now, can't we?" M. Andre pulled the other envelope from his pocket. "But now you know where that dreadful piece of music went to." With a wan smile, he motioned to the door. "Will you be accompanying me to the seamstress' shop, Firmin?"

* * *

Having stuffed herself silly at the restaurant, Angelique was now happily working away at beading the wedding dress. The job was much simpler now that the dress was securely settled onto a mannequin, and the number of beads in the box was rapidly decreasing. It was amazing what a full stomach could do for her, and she bit off the end of the thread as she hid the end of the string inside the next bead with a smile.

The door swung open, and Messieurs Firmin and Andre rushed inside. Angelique was back in the material room with the dress, and didn't notice they had arrived. Wearing the smile she reserved only for customers, Mme Lafours greeted the two men.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. What can I do for you?"

"We are here to speak to Mlle Angelique DuBain." M. Firmin took the lead, and Mme Lafours shook her head.

"I'm sorry, Messieurs, but Mlle DuBain is quite busy at the moment. Perhaps I could assist you?" 

"Forgive us, Madame, but it is imperative that we speak to her at once," M. Andre smiled at her, and seeing the woman relent for a moment, he continued. "We won't keep her more than a moment!"

"Very well, just for a moment. Mlle DuBain?"

"Is something wrong, Madame?" Angelique's voice came from around the corner, and a moment later, she came out from the material room. Her long braid was pinned in a bun so that it was out of her way, and there was a measuring tape hanging around her neck. Little curls of hair had escaped her braid, and she looked about as much like a composer as Dr. Watson. When she realized that it was the managers, she tried to smooth her hair down. "So we meet again," she said with a smile directed at M. Firmin. He cleared his throat nervously.

"Yes, well, it seems that you have an admirer, Mlle DuBain. He sends his regards, and invites you to attend Friday's premiere with his compliments." Clearing his throat again, M. Firmin turned to M. Andre.

"However, at this late time there is only one seat left…" M. Andre coughed nervously as he looked at Angelique. "That would be Box Five." Though the managers looked visibly uncomfortable at the mention of the words, Angelique simply nodded.

"Tell your mysterious patron that I'm honored, and I will be happy to attend." She smiled brightly at them, then turned towards the back of the shop. M. Andre pulled the envelope from his pocket and waved it at her.

"One last thing…he also asked us to give you this letter."

"Thank you," Angelique said as she took the letter from his hand. She waved to the managers as they walked out into the winter chill. While she stood looking at the letter, Mme. Lafours came up behind her.

"What do you think you're doing, standing there like a little idiot? Get back to work!" Her words snapped the young woman out of her trance, and Angelique hurried back to work on the wedding dress, jamming the letter into her pocket as she did. The letter remained forgotten in her pocket for quite some time.

The rest of the day passed quite quickly, and as soon as Mme Lafours told her it was time to go, Angelique took off without a second thought. After buying wood and oil for her lamp, she reached her apartment quickly, and decided that it would be a good night for a bath. While she waited for the water to boil, she took off her wool dress and folded it carefully. Without a doubt, she would need it again the next day.

As she folded it, she heard a faint crinkle in the pocket and realized that she had never read the letter from her fan. Excited, she looked at the script on the front of the letter. There was something strangely familiar about it, but she was much too elated to actually think about it. Her first fan. Angelique opened the envelope, wondering just what could be so important as to make the managers come see her. There was a single sheet of paper inside, and she unfolded it. There was a short note written in red ink, along with thirty francs. Angelique was breathless, not knowing what to say.

My dear Mlle DuBain,

Seeing as those idiot managers would not know a work of art if it fell upon their head, I hope you do not mind that I wish to purchase it from you. Please accept this small amount of money in return for the magnificent piece of music I happened upon at the Opera Populaire. If the amount is inadequate, I shall remedy it at once. I look forward to your next triumph with anticipation!

Your obedient servant,

O.G.

With a squeak of excitement, Angelique pressed the letter and the money to her chest. Whoever O.G. was, she wished he were there so she could hug him. Thirty francs was more than enough to buy herself some new gloves, and maybe some new boots to wear to the opera. Her mind was working much too fast, and she suddenly realized it. Perhaps he would be at the opera that night to meet her.

Now this was a whole different story. Angelique wondered just how far she could stretch this thirty francs. If she was to meet a man who might very well buy more of her music, she certainly couldn't go in a ragged old dress. Perhaps she could dress up one of her old dresses with some new things…

Excited beyond description, Angelique picked up the pot of now-boiling water and lugged it into the bathroom where she proceeded to pour it into the tub to mix it with some cold water. Maybe she could even make a new dress by Friday. Then it hit her.

"Oh no…" Pressing a hand to her lips, Angelique nearly dropped the pot. "Tomorrow is Friday…there's no way…" Slowly unfastening the buttons on her slip, Angelique let it fall around her ankles as she tried to comprehend how she could have let her own birthday sneak up on her so quickly. As she stepped into the tub and began to unbraid her hair, she tried to think of ways to make herself look even better for her fan.

Her fan. Just thinking the words covered her body with pleasant goosebumps, and she laughed as she sank further into the hot water. She didn't want to miss a moment of this happiness, and once more silently thanked whoever had given it to her.

* * *

Unaware that she was expressing such gratitude, Erik was sitting before the opened piece of music which he now owned at the relatively small cost of thirty francs. It was worth substantially more to him, but it was all he had at the moment he had written the letter.

Letting his mind travel to the past once more, an image of Christine Daae appeared before him. But now, her eyes seemed so sad. It broke his heart to think of the pain he had caused her with his callous and unthinking gestures, but sadly he had no other memories of her.

When she had first come to him, thinking him to be her Angel of Music, she had always been happy. There hadn't been a time that her bright eyes weren't smiling as the pure notes poured forth from her throat. He had recognized her talent right away, and helped her to develop it. For this she was always grateful, but no matter what he did or said, he could never make her love him as much as he loved her.

By now, he knew she was married…possibly with a child. For an instant, Erik wondered if her child was beautiful, then dropped his gaze into his hands as he sighed. Of course her children would be nothing but perfect…they were Christine's children, as well as of that ludicrous dandy of a man she had married. He couldn't imagine her having anything but a perfect child. An exquisite child which wasn't…which never even had a chance of being his.

A mixture of sadness and rage rose into his chest, and Erik sprang up from his seat. For a moment, he stood alone in the darkness before sitting back down in resignation. Christine…everything about her was in the past. No matter how intelligent he was, no matter how many curses he uttered, how many tears he shed, how much sadness filled his heart, none of it would bring her back or change the past.

Sadly turning to the music on the stand, Erik closed the cover. Tonight, he had no more desire for even the grandest melodies. The name of the composer drifted into his mind once more and he silently apologized to her, in the hopes that her seat at the Opera Populaire would bring her more happiness than it had brought him of late.

From somewhere in the shadows, a wisp of air extinguished the flickering light of the candle on the barrel organ's edge, leaving only the mournful sound of a sigh in the unfathomable darkness.


	3. Unexpected Song

Unexpected Song

The following day, Angelique hurried through her work excitedly. She was much too distracted to even think of writing her music at that moment, and Mme Lafours noticed that she was acting rather odd.

"What is the matter with you today, Mlle DuBain?"

"I'm so excited, Madame, I'm going to the opera tonight!" Angelique fixed another bead to the dress with a smile, and the woman gave her a strange look. 

"People go to the opera every day in Paris, there's nothing new about that," Mme Lafours grumbled as she walked into the front of the shop. Angelique continued working on the wedding gown, and resisted the urge to make a comment. 

Before long it was time for her to leave, and she hurried down the street to buy some new gloves and shoes for the opera. She had decided that one of her old dresses would have to suffice, but the one she wore the least was by far the prettiest. However, she didn't know if she could stand going into that magnificent building wearing such old shoes and gloves.

Her purchases made, Angelique hurried to her apartment. While she boiled the water for the bath, she inspected her hair. There wasn't enough time to have it styled, but when she unbraided it, she was sure it would be quite wavy. That would have to do, but perhaps she could put some nice combs in it to make herself look a bit nicer.

Carefully, she lay the clothes out on the bed and took another look at them before taking the lint brush she had borrowed from the back room of the sewing shop out and beginning on her cloak. Once she had finished with it, the cloak looked almost new. Holding it up to the light, she noticed a small tear in the satin lining. Angelique frowned, not remembering catching her cloak on anything. This bothered her, as she had spent a great deal of money on this cloak when she had left her aunts house. 

Angelique opened the drawer to her small dressing table and fished out the needle and thread, all the while thinking about the opera. She almost couldn't believe that she was going to be seated in one of the magnificent boxes that she had admired most of her young life. The managers had said Box Five like it was a curse, but she could have cared less where the seat was. She smiled as she knelt beside her cloak to sew the inside back together. Even if it was cursed, it might be interesting to see what would happen. 

Ever since she had seen the first article in the paper, one of her favorite stories had been the legend of the Phantom of the Opera. After that she had read each and every piece the paper had put out on the mysterious man. If he really did exist, Angelique had to admit that she thought that it might be interesting to meet him. Some of the articles had said that he was nothing more than a crazy man who lived in the catacombs beneath the theatre, and others claimed that he was a brilliant musician and composer. If indeed he was the latter, she couldn't help hoping that he might still be hanging around the theatre. Maybe she would even get a chance to poke around in the cellars after the opera was over. With each thought, she was getting more and more excited about the evening.

The rip wasn't at all serious, and she carefully put away the needle and thread as she headed for the bathroom. With all the excitement, she had almost forgotten it was her birthday. But as she poured the hot water into the tub, Angelique laughed softly. Perhaps this year she would save the money for when she really needed it, since this mystery man had given her a much better gift than she could have possibly afforded herself.

Stepping into the tub, she realized that it was hotter than the night before. Feeling rather like a vegetable in a stew, she went about the business of getting clean. While she scrubbed her skin with the rough sponge she had bought, her mind began to wander. 

Angelique hoped that her patron would be at the opera. She so much wanted to meet the man who thought her music was good enough to purchase. For a moment she considered taking some more of her work to show him, just in case he did show up, but decided against it. She didn't want to seem too eager right away, and what if he thought she just wanted more money? Shaking her head firmly, Angelique resolved to herself that if she did meet this man tonight, the topic of money would not come up. Unless of course, he brought it up. Then it was a different story. 

Snapping herself back to reality, she found that she had been scrubbing her skin until it had turned a bright pink. Angelique hadn't realized that shehad been so rough, and tossed the sponge aside into the steaming water.

Closing her eyes, Angelique lay her head on the rim of the tub. The heat of the water was making her a little dizzy, and the cool porcelain surface of the tub kept her from falling asleep. More than anything, she hoped that she wouldn't do anything to embarrass herself that night. She wanted to enjoy this opera, and she was determined to do so if it was the last thing she did.

* * *

At the same time, Erik was still debating whether he wanted to go to the opera that night. He knew that the composer of that beautiful piece would be there on his invitation, but with the way he had been feeling whenever he set foot into the opera house lately he was unsure about even going there.

In fact, he was beginning to think that this new venture was a bad idea. It was obvious that he wasn't getting any younger, and he didn't know if he should take on any new students.

Erik stared out over the lake. A light mist was rolling over its surface, and he took a moment to admire its beauty. If he listened carefully, he thought he could hear Christine singing. But he knew all too well that it was nothing more than his imagination playing tricks on him again, and he turned to go back to the house.

As he did, he suddenly felt as if this were an important day. He didn't know why this feeling had struck him, but it was a nagging feeling that couldn't be stopped. Though he wanted nothing more than to just disappear into his house and not come out, Erik suddenly felt obligated to go to the theatre.

Walking up the few steps to his house below the ground, Erik decided to dress as nicely as possible for the opera. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to meet this composer. Perhaps she would enjoy talking to him, and he to her. A conversation about music, albeit from behind the wall, might take his mind off the melancholy thoughts he had been prone to more and more often lately.

Pulling out the finest tuxedo he had, Erik realized that he hadn't worn it in quite some time. However, his cloak was as fine as ever, and as he fastened it around his neck, he smiled. No matter how unhappy he might be, he couldn't quiet his curiosity about this woman. 

These thoughts gradually filled his mind, taking his thoughts away from the sadness of the past. As he climbed into the boat to start across the lake, Erik smiled. Perhaps he would enjoy the opera after all.

* * *

From the moment Angelique walked into the Opera Populaire, she knew she was in a whole other world. Her eyes darted from one thing to another as she walked along the richly carpeted hallway towards the grand staircase. Slowly, she descended the red carpeted stairs as she took in everything around her. No amount of imagining had prepared her for this, and her heart soared over and over again as her eyes fell onto another beautiful object. 

Many a night she had dreamed about walking down this very staircase, dreamed about how lovely she would look in her fancy dress and how everyone would gaze at her. They wouldn't be able to take their eyes off her, and she would simply smile at them and continue on her way down the stairs. Now, here she was already at the bottom of the magnificent staircase and she hadn't even noticed.

Out of nowhere, a glass of wine was pressed into her hand, which she sipped as she walked along, marveling at the plush carpet beneath her feet. Everywhere she turned, it seemed like there were important people talking and laughing. Angelique was sure she even saw a governor, and suddenly she wanted to find her box and hide in it.

Before she could, however, she managed to literally bump into MM Andre and Firmin, who were accompanied at that time by their wives. 

"Good evening, Mlle DuBain," M. Firmin greeted her with one of the most artificial smiles she thought she had ever seen in her life. "Are you enjoying our opening night gala?"

"Is that what this is all about? I can't say I've ever seen such a splendid display in my life! Now if you'll just excuse me, I must be getting to my seat." Smiling politely, she tried to go around them. However, M. Andre managed to catch her arm as she did so.

"Just one moment, Mademoiselle. Surely you wouldn't want to go without your escort, would you?" At his words, Angelique's heart began to thunder in her chest. Could this be? Was she finally going to meet her patron? Out of the millions of things she might have said, all she managed to choke out was two words.

"My escort?" As if on cue, an older woman appeared out of nowhere with a stern look on her face. This woman was wearing a black dress and carrying a large stick, both of which worried Angelique to no end. M. Andre smiled at the woman.

"Good evening, Madame Giry," he said, bowing slightly to the woman. Mme Giry, however, did not even pretend to acknowledge the feigned cheer in his voice, but simply glared at him as well as M. Firmin.

"I'm glad to see that you are listening to his commands for once instead of standing around and trying to figure out how to cheat him out of his salary," she said quite icily to the managers. Then she turned her gaze to Angelique. "Come with me." Leaving no room for discussion or argument, she started towards the small staircase which led to the box seats. Angelique had to quicken her step to catch up with the woman, causing her to wonder just what that stick was for.

"Pardon me, Madame, but just who is this…" A programme appeared before Angelique, and she took it. She was really beginning to like this woman. 

"This is Box Five. It is undoubtedly the best seat in the house, and if you should need something during the show, please ring the bell and I will be up here at once." With that, she turned and went back down the stairs, leaving Angelique feeling as if she had just witnessed a spectacular performance of a different kind.

A bit nervously, she pushed aside the heavy curtain which led into Box Five and went inside. With a slight bit of disappointment, she noticed that there was only one chair in the box as she hung her cloak on the rack that was near the exit. She supposed that this meant she wasn't going to meet her patron after all, and her heart sank a little.

Still, she was lucky to be here at all, and Mme Giry was right. It was the best seat in the house, judging from the view. Cheering up a bit, Angelique moved to the front of the box and looked out over the main theatre. Hundreds of people were milling about the floor, talking to one another as they tried to find their seats. 

The buzz of their voices as they all spoke at once was a comforting sound, almost as soothing as a mother's heartbeat, but Angelique shook her head. No doubt most of the people who were greeting each other one moment would gladly stab one another in the back as soon as they turned away, and she could just hear their practiced laughter as they pretended to be interested in one another's lives.

Looking away from the rouged women and pompous men, she drank in the beauty of the opera house itself. The massive chandelier, still lit with candles and dripping with crystal beads, the lushly upholstered furniture and painstakingly carved statues all melted together to create Garnier's masterpiece of a stage on which magnificent living works of art were to be displayed nightly.

Across the stage, the immense length of red velvet that made up the curtain was drawn, but every so often the surface of the curtain would ripple and sway as some careless dancer or stagehand bumped into it. Angelique decided that she was in love with this place, and even if she never saw her patron's face she would be forever in his debt for bringing her there on her birthday, of all days.

Turning to sit down, Angelique noticed that there was a single red rose lying on the seat of her chair. Exhaling softly, she reached down to pick it up. It was the most perfect rose she had ever seen, and she brought it to her nose and breathed deeply of its scent. Angelique had never been given fresh roses before, but the smell seemed so familiar. As the unique perfume of the rose filled her senses, images flooded into her mind so fast they made her a little dizzy.

Darkness.

The far-off sound of a music box.

Laughter.

Sinking into her seat, Angelique closed her eyes. Although she knew that certain scents and sounds had the power to send a person back to a previous time in their mind, it just didn't seem right. No matter how hard she tried she couldn't remember when she might have had roses. She knew her parents had never given them to her, so it would have had to be sometime before she was with them. It would have had to be before she was two…but people couldn't remember that far back. Could they?

A deep voice rang out from below, on the stage, and she looked up. While she was thinking, the opera had begun. Hoping she hadn't missed anything, Angelique took a peek into the programme. This man was called Jacques Bruler, and he was a lead baritone singer. Still, no matter how much she tried to focus on the stage, all she could think about was where she had smelled roses before.

Trying to put these thoughts out of her mind, Angelique shook her head. This was the opera she had been waiting most of her life to see, and she wasn't going to allow anything to distract her again.

* * *

Unbeknownst to the woman in the chair, someone was watching her. Just as she settled into her chair, the pillar in the corner of the box opened a crack to allow a pair of eyes to look out. The view from the pillar, however, only permitted Erik to see the back of her chair, and he moved along behind the wall to a different place that gave him a better angle from which to finally see this Mlle DuBain.

The moment he saw her, Erik was speechless. From the start, he supposed he had possessed a certain picture of her in his mind, but it was shattered the instant his eyes fell over her face. Much to his surprise, this lady composer who had captivated him with her music was a young woman.

At that very moment, her chin was resting on one of her hands while her eyes were fixed on the stage. The fingertips of her other hand absently stroked the petals of the rose he had given her as her gaze followed the male lead across the stage, but what Erik noticed more than anything was the color of her eyes. They were like two polished jewels glittering in the dim lights of the theatre, and were a blue he had never witnessed before in his many years.

The face that the beautiful eyes were set in was also remarkable in its own way, but Erik noticed her figure first. Not so much that it was attractive, but that she was quite thin. He had never even considered that she might be poor, and he suddenly found himself wishing that he had given her more money for her piece.

She looked so serious while she watched the opera, as if she was studying it, but he could tell right away that she was barely older than twenty. He wanted more than anything to ask where such a lovely young woman could have learned to write such beautiful music, but she was so completely enveloped by the music that it would have been nothing short of blasphemy to take her from it.

Just moments later, the silence in the box was broken by a soft laugh which sounded like music. Erik frowned for a moment, then realized what she was laughing at. In this scene, the tenor lead had a solo within which Ruffino had cleverly hidden a pun on an obscure Italian story. He noted with no small measure of pride that not only had she caught the pun, but also understood the allusion it made to the literature. 

Most of the imbeciles who came to his theatre didn't understand enough of the Italian language to translate half the opera, much less get the pun. In fact, Erik suspected that a great deal of them wouldn't even know how to find their way around their own homes without their servants to guide them. But she had known right away, and this only made her all the more attractive in his eyes.

Normally, Erik would have gotten tired of standing behind the wall and taken measures to get rid of the person in what he usually thought of as his personal place. Tonight, though, he was content to keep his distance and simply watch her.

Everything she did, every tiny little mannerism from the way her lapis-toned eyes followed everything and nothing on the stage to the way she bit her lip at intense moments in the music was captured like a painting in his mind and stored away for future reference. Whenever the diva hit a high note, she seemed to hold her breath until the note was over, then beamed with excitement at the inevitable triumph of the woman on the stage. She was so absorbed in the opera that Erik doubted she would notice him no matter what he did or said.

All too soon the opera was over, and Mlle DuBain sprang to her feet. Her face was glowing as she clapped for each one of the performers, even the ballet dancers who had flailed about like dying calves. When all the applause had ended, she waited until the very last person had vacated the main theatre before putting on her cloak and hurrying out of the box.

Mlle DuBain's heel had barely passed through the doorway when Erik emerged from within the wall. He placed Mme Giry's nightly tip on the shelf of Box Five, then slipped into the panel behind the hollow pillar. 

From his place within the walls of the opera house, he could hear the patrons commenting on the performance and various other things. Only halfway listening to the conversations, he made his way down the staircase that was built into the wall and into the first cellar. Although they had sealed up the entrance they thought he used to get into the opera house, there were many others that wouldn't be found until the opera house fell.

His mind was on Mlle DuBain as he passed through the shadows of the cellar, but his sharp ears picked up on a very soft sound in another part of the room. Ducking quickly into the abundant shadows that lined the walls, he looked around to see who was down there. Accustomed as he was to the darkness, it seemed that there was no one there. Removing his Punjab lasso from within his cloak in order to dispatch this uninvited guest, Erik pulled the thin rope taut between his hands as he waited for them to walk past.

Only a few feet away from him, the person stepped out of the shadows and into the light given off by one of the torches affixed to the wall. Erik was but a moment from springing onto the figure when he realized who it was. 

Not knowing just how close she had come to being throttled by a man who could have killed her before she would have even perceived the threat, Mlle DuBain continued to creep deeper into the darkness. Her pretty face was nearly hidden by her hood, but he knew it was she and put away the weapon.

Again, she disappeared into the darkness, and Erik wondered just what she was looking for. He followed close behind her, but she rounded a corner which was directly under a light, and while he was taking the long way through the darker part of the cellar, he heard her scream ring out through the darkness. 

Still concealing himself in the Cimmerian depths of shadow, he ran to where he had heard her cry out. The scream was followed by a cracking sound, and Erik rounded the corner. He couldn't let anything happen to her. But as suddenly as she had screamed, her indignant voice rang through the cellar, and Erik stopped in his tracks. 

* * *

"How dare you!" Still trying to catch her breath, Angelique was almost afraid to see who she had slapped. Hoping against hope that it wasn't the Phantom that she had caught across the face, she turned to see M. Andre behind her. "You!"

"I might have guessed it was you," he grumbled, rubbing his face. "What do you think you're doing down here? This place is off-limits to guests, you know."

"Since when have you ever treated me like a guest?" Angelique laughed as she spoke. The very thought of the managers making her feel welcome in the opera house was ridiculous to her, and she turned away from him.

"That's no excuse! Besides, what do you think you're going to find down here?" As he spoke, a rat lazily scuttled across the floor and through the light. Angelique raised an eyebrow at M. Andre.

"Besides vermin?" Shaking her head as she turned and went towards the door, she didn't get to see M. Andre's face turning a bright shade of red. Figuring she had won her battle for the night, Angelique went up the cellar stairs and headed for her apartment, a huge smile on her face.

* * *

Laughing, Erik stood in the shadows. Not only was she educated and lovely, but she had a mind of her own. This Mlle DuBain was becoming more and more intriguing by the moment. But why had she ventured down here, into the darkness? A thought struck him suddenly; perhaps she was looking for him.

Surely she wouldn't just come down there for no reason, though…she had to have been searching for something.

Hesitating for just a moment, Erik turned around and slipped up the stairs. Ever since he had first played her music, he had wanted to meet her, to know her. For reasons best known to himself, he had not spoken to her during the opera. But if he waited now, he may never see her again. For all his knowledge, he didn't know where she lived.

Erik emerged from the theatre into the street, his cloak blending easily into the darkness of the night. Angelique had already gone, but a set of tiny footprints in the snow caught his eye. Knowing she would probably not have a carriage with which to return home, he followed the prints to the door of a bakery. Above his head, a small window sat in the middle of the wall. He supposed this was her home, and waited outside for a few minutes, even though he saw no light in her window.

Silently, he moved up the stairs and opened the door with ease, for her lock was a simple one. The room he found himself in was depressingly small, furnished with only a dressing table, a very small stove which appeared not to be functioning at the moment, and a bed in the corner from which he could hear her breathing. A pair of small boots had been casually tossed on the floor next to the dressing table, and the dress she had worn that night hung over the back of a beat-up chair which sat pointlessly nearby. 

Erik hadn't imagined that the woman who had so captivated him with her music could be so destitute. He was further confounded by the fact that she did not possess a writing table, much less a piano or instrument of any sort. How, he wondered, could she write music without these things? 

Assured that she was asleep, he followed the sound of her breath to her bed and looked at the sleeping woman. It was a moment before he noticed the way she was sleeping, another thing which was rather odd. Covers pulled up to her chin, she was curled into a little ball under a ragged blanket, and Erik suddenly became aware of the chill in the room. On a second inspection of the place, he saw a large crack running up the length of the window. Through this, a cold wind was blowing directly onto the bed. He was used to this sort of frigidity, but how on earth did a thin, frail-looking little woman like that survive?

Without notice, Mlle DuBain moved a bit in her sleep, and for a moment he thought she was going to wake up. But her eyes remained closed, and he supposed that she must have been dreaming. For her to have fallen into such a deep sleep so quickly, he knew that she must have been exhausted, and he wondered if she had another job. If she did, it couldn't possibly pay much.

Beside him was a small, rather lopsided nightstand on which sat a little oil lamp and a book. Intrigued, he picked up the book and examined its cover. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Apparently the lady was a mystery fan, and Erik set the book back down in its place. Nearby was her programme from the opera, and the rose he had left for her was lying on top of it. The single flower seemed out of place in her drab little room, nothing more than a splash of red and green among the infinite shades of gray that enveloped her room. Erik suddenly found himself wishing he had brought her more, if for no other reason than to liven up her apartment. 

Mlle DuBain suddenly shifted again in her sleep, this time rolling onto her other side, and Erik stood perfectly still so as not to attract attention to himself. Once again she did not awaken, but he decided that it was probably as good a time as any to return to his own home. Taking one last glance at the sleeping figure in the bed, he went back out into the winter air.

As he made his way down the darkened street to the Opera Populaire, Erik figured that, now that he knew where she lived, he could always come back. No sooner had this thought come into his mind than he pushed it out again. Of course he wouldn't go back to her apartment. There was no reason for him to return. 

Then it struck him. 

Surely there was more of her music in that room. If he returned, he could not only look for the music, but also make sure that Mlle DuBain didn't freeze solid in that deathtrap of an apartment she lived in. 

But, of course, the most important thing was the music. 

* * *

Somehow, in the days that followed her night at the opera, work didn't seem quite as interesting as it had been. Although she finished the wedding dress quite ahead of schedule, it had failed to delight her as she thought it would. When the bride picked it up for the wedding, she had complimented Angelique mercilessly about the beauty of the job and the detail of the beading. 

Though she knew she should have been flattered, Angelique had felt more unfulfilled than anything. It wasn't a mystery to her why she was feeling this way. It had been nearly two weeks since the opera and she still hadn't heard anything from her patron. She worried that perhaps he had found that the music wasn't to his liking after all, and had found another composer to support.

And according to the calendar in the corner of the sewing shop, in another few days it would be Christmas. While she didn't harbor any special feelings towards or against the holiday, she couldn't forget that it was a time when people got together with their families and friends. The day on which the whole city celebrated peace and togetherness only served to remind her that she had no family. She could still remember her mother laughing as she opened Angelique's handmade presents, and her father letting her have a whole glass of wine during Christmas dinner instead of her usual two sips. But these thoughts only made her more depressed, and the more she tried to forget her parents, the more she remembered about their Christmases together.

On top of all this, she had a cold. It had plagued her for nearly five days so far, and she was looking forward to getting rid of it. This seemed to make everything worse, and it was becoming costly to heat her room at night. Luckily, the worst of it was over. All that remained of what had felt to her like an unending bout of pneumonia was little more than a cough and the occasional sniffle. But thanks to this, she hadn't been sleeping too well. The past two nights, she had been having the strangest dreams. 

Looking up at the clock, she noticed that she only had a little longer until she could go home, and Mme Lafours came over to her table.

"Are you feeling better today?" There was, for once, genuine concern in the woman's voice as she handed Angelique the envelope with her wages in it. For two days Angelique had been unable to come to work, and Mme Lafours didn't want to lose the one girl she had who could actually sew. 

"Yes, Madame. Although I'm still not sleeping well, I am feeling much better." As she spoke, she slipped the pay package into her pocket. "Such strange dreams…" Mme Lafours nodded.

"Fever dreams," she diagnosed, arms folded. "You may not know it, but you probably still have a fever at night." Her face suddenly became stern again, and she looked closer at Angelique. "You're still reading those mystery novels, aren't you?"

"Of course, but I don't think…"

"That is precisely your problem, Mlle DuBain, you neglect to think about what kinds of thoughts those things put into your head! Why, in my day…" While she talked, Angelique let her mind wander elsewhere. She often tuned her employer out, especially when the old grouch started talking about how 'those books' were ruining her mind.

The very moment the clock struck eight, Angelique sprang up from her seat at the sewing table and put on her cloak, despite the fact that Mme Lafours was still chattering away at her. She smiled broadly as she nodded, edging closer and closer to the door with every word the older lady spoke.

Soon, she was back in her apartment with a small bundle of wood and some food. Taking off her shoes and dress, Angelique crawled into her little bed, totally forgetting about the food she had set on the dressing table. Before long, she was asleep again, and the little package of food sat there forlornly through the rest of the night, watching her sleep. It didn't realize that it wouldn't be the only one.

* * *

Darkness fell over the city like a blanket, and for the first time in several days, Erik found himself standing outside the door of Mlle DuBain's apartment. He was quite angry about the whole thing, as he had resolved almost a week earlier to never return to her home. Still, he was there. Although he still wasn't completely sure why.

For five nights after the opera, Erik had waited until he was certain she would be asleep, then crept up to her room. At first, he had fully intended to look for the music. But somehow, he would always end up by the side of her bed, watching her sleep. Of course, he would go through her room a little, finding out little things about her, such as the fact that she enjoyed horror stories as well as mystery, but he would always end up in the same place. He had no idea how he could spend an entire night watching a woman sleep, but somehow he ended up spending an entire week of nights in this way.

As a result, he had forbidden himself to return. This sort of thing could only turn out one way, and he had no intention of allowing it to do so. Still, he thought about her all the time. When he wasn't playing her music, he was wondering what she was doing. Several times, he had even begun writing her a letter. But each time he did so, an image of Christine would appear before him, and he tore the letter into pieces.

The most worrying thing of all was that the more he thought about Mlle DuBain, the less he thought about Christine. While this seemed on the surface to be a good thing, Erik wasn't entirely sure he wanted to stop thinking about her. For quite some time, Christine had been the main focus of his life. Every part of his being had belonged to that one woman, and when she had rejected him it was as if she had torn out his heart. Even now, he thought about her. And even now, her memory was painful. This was because he always started out thinking about the times she had come to him without fear, when she called him her Angel of Music, the times he was truly happiest. But inevitably his thoughts would return to the present, and she was gone. 

After six days of these thoughts, he had found his mind mercifully returning to thoughts of Mlle DuBain. He wanted more than anything just to see her, to take his mind off the past. The silence of his house threatened to drive him mad, and before he realized it he found himself before the bakery. 

Now, there was no sound in her room. He slipped through the door, closing it quietly behind him. This time, he didn't hesitate for a moment in going to her side. The instant he saw her, his mind seemed to be at ease. As always, she slept placidly beneath her frayed covers. But tonight, there was something wrong. It looked as if she was having trouble breathing, and with every exhalation he could hear a wheezing sound. Concerned, he looked a bit closer, then noticed at once that her face was flushed. Her forehead was damp with sweat, and the peaceful look on her face was disturbed by a wrinkle that crossed her entire brow.

It looked as if it was taking great effort for her to breathe, and he was struck by the sudden urge to touch her. Reaching out to the obviously ill woman, his fingertips hung in the air over her face unsurely. He had never been in a position to comfort someone before, and he wasn't certain if this was correct.

Making a small sound in the back of her throat, Mlle DuBain rolled onto her back. As she did so, the covers slipped down off her shoulders. One small hand found its way out from under the blanket and rested near her face on the pillow. Unable to control himself, Erik reached out and placed his hand on her cheek. Belatedly, he realized that his hands were probably cold, but it didn't seem to matter to Mlle DuBain. Her face relaxed, and she seemed to press her cheek closer to his hand. Although she was burning with fever, Erik noticed that her skin was very soft. 

As he tried to figure out what to make of the situation, her other hand reached out from beneath the covers to reflexively touch his. For a moment Erik wondered if she were dreaming about something. The moonlight glinted off something on her arm, catching Erik's eye. When he saw what it was, though, his blood froze.

Realizing at once what it was, Erik pulled away from her as if he had been burned. As he backed away from the bed. Mlle DuBain frowned again, her little hand searching for the larger one which had been there a moment before.

His eyes were fixed on her wrist and as he moved away from her, his arm bumped the edge of her dressing table. Her hairbrush fell from its edge with a clatter, and Mlle DuBain's eyes fluttered open just as Erik darted out the door.

Thinking that she must have been dreaming, Mlle DuBain went back to sleep.

* * *

Morning light streamed in through the little window in the corner, and Angelique woke up slowly. Pulling herself out of bed, she rubbed her eyes. Her hairbrush wasn't in its usual place, and she frowned. It didn't take her long to find it, however, and she looked in the mirror as she slowly began to brush her hair. She was pleased to find that the dark circles under her eyes were shrinking, but as she looked at herself in the mirror she couldn't help but think about the dream she had.

For the first night in almost a week she actually felt rested, and it was a good possibility that the lack of nightmares was responsible for this. Although her dream had been odd, she was grateful that it wasn't as frightening as some of the other dreams she had been party to in the last week.

In the dream, she had been sailing on a tiny boat in the middle of the ocean. Suddenly, her boat was overturned by a wave. Angelique had been certain she was going to drown, but out of nowhere a hand had reached down to help her. The next thing she knew, someone was holding her in their arms. But she couldn't see who it was, and before she could find out, they were already gone.

With a sigh, Angelique selected a dress to wear to work and began to put it on. Even if it was only a dream, and even if she had no idea what it meant, it made her feel a little better. Grabbing her cloak from the chair, Angelique hurried down the stairs and down the street towards the sewing shop.

Perhaps the dream meant that this would be a good day.

* * *

Hours later, Erik was still awake. He should have known from the start who she was. Her face, especially her eyes, hadn't changed much in the past twenty or so years. But when he had seen the bracelet, there was no room for doubt.

Sitting alone in his home while the rest of Paris worked at their little lives, Erik thought for the first time in years about the day he found a small child, abandoned, in the darkness of his world. A child who had ended up staying for almost two years. He hadn't intended to keep her as long as he did, but he couldn't stand the thought of letting this baby rot away in an orphanage.

When she was a child, he hadn't given her a name for several weeks. He felt there was no reason to, since they did not have the need to speak to one another. But when she fell ill quite suddenly, he had become quite frustrated with her. As a last resort, he told her that she was simply not allowed to die and that if she lived, he would give her the best name he could think of. Miraculously, the child began to get well. Once it was evident that she wasn't going to pass on anytime soon, he gave her the name Angelique, in reference to her quiet disposition. 

For quite some time, she hadn't spoken. At first Erik thought she was retarded, but hadn't worried about it. She didn't seem to have any interest in speaking, it seemed she was content to sit and watch him write and play his music for hours on end. Until one day when she looked up and asked him what was the difference between the white and black keys. Carefully, he had explained to her the concept of a keyboard, and she nodded her understanding. She had never asked his name, or anything about his face. In fact, she hardly spoke at all.

Erik remembered that was why he had given her away. Besides the fact that he wasn't exactly the fatherly type, he didn't think it was healthy or fair to make such a pretty child live under the ground with him. She really did deserve to have a nice family, so under the cover of darkness he had carefully deposited her on the step of a pretty little house near his home. It seemed to break the child's heart for him to leave, but he had never regretted it. No one, especially a child, should be condemned to his fate.

And although he was fond of her, he hadn't cared for her like people care for their children. This was mostly because he didn't know how to care for a person in that way. But he had taken care of her because he felt a bond to her…they were both alone, unwanted by even the people who had given them life. 

It was because of this bond that he had given her the bracelet. The bracelet that had once belonged to his mother, Madeleine. And although she hadn't felt much for him besides fear, he supposed he had loved her on some level. When she had died, her bracelet was one of the last pieces of her that he possessed. Even if he concentrated as hard as he could, the only image he could summon of her was blurry at best. This wasn't painful; he supposed if she was alive, she probably wouldn't think about him at all. Although Erik truly hoped that she wouldn't remember him, he wanted to leave a piece of himself with her so that she would know that she wasn't alone.

Ever since he had fled her apartment, he had wondered just why he had done so. Maybe it was just the shock of seeing her again after so long, and realizing that she had grown from a crying child into such a beautiful woman. Or maybe it was that he…

Silencing the voice of his mind, Erik took a piece of paper and some ink from the writing desk in his sitting room and began to write a letter. He knew he had to see her again, if just to hear more of her music. And her voice.

* * *

"What's this?" Angelique knelt down onto her floor to pick up the envelope that she had very nearly stepped on as she walked through the door. The front of the envelope was blank, and she turned it over and over looking for something that would tell her who had sent it. "I wonder who this is from," she murmured softly as she looked at the letter again. Realizing that she was only talking to herself, she shut the door behind her. Tossing her cloak over the chair, she sat on the edge of the bed and opened the letter.

At once, she recognized the handwriting. As her eyes ran over the red-inked words a second time, she laughed delightedly. Her patron hadn't given up on her after all


	4. The Angel Descends

The Angel Descends

With a soft creak, the door to the Paris Opera house opened a tiny bit. Angelique peeped inside and looked around. The place looked deserted, and she wondered if someone was playing tricks on her.

"Hello? Is anyone here?" As her voice echoed through the empty auditorium, she took a few more steps inside. The door closed loudly behind her, and she moved into the darkened theatre. "Hello?"

All of a sudden, the long row of footlights along the stage lit up, casting a soft light onto the huge proscenium. With a soft sigh of awe, Angelique pulled the hood away from her face. It was beautiful. But the stage was empty, and Angelique was getting more and more confused. Something told her she should go up to Box Five, and she started up the staircase that led to the box seats. 

When she made it to Box Five, however, there was no one there. Perplexed, 

Angelique moved to the front of the box so that she could look out over the entire theatre. Feeling a bit like a fool, she sighed. Apparently this was someone's idea of a joke, and she couldn't believe she had fallen for it. Unbidden, she could feel hot tears welling up in her eyes. Angelique pressed a hand to her eyes, trying to keep them from spilling over onto her cheeks. She hadn't really cried since her parents had died, and she didn't have any intention of starting again.

"Angelique?"

The voice seemed to come out of nowhere, and she lifted her head up. Swiping at her eyes to get rid of the tears, she looked around the box, searching for the owner of the voice. No one was there, and for a moment she thought she had been imagining things.

"Is someone there?" There was a long silence, and a chill ran up Angelique's spine as she looked behind her. "Hello?"

"I thought you weren't coming." Now it seemed as if the voice was right beside her, and Angelique found her voice again.

"No, I…who are you?" Her eyes continued to roam over walls of the box as she crossed her arms over her chest nervously. 

"The one who found your music. I brought you here tonight to ask if there were other pieces that you had penned. If so, I would be most interested in hearing more of them." Listening to this voice, she knew at once it that belonged to a man. From the quality of it, she suspected that this man was also a singer.

"Of course. But I didn't bring them with me…where are you?" It was so confusing, the way the man's voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. "It would be so much easier to talk to you if I could see you."

"Forgive me, my dear Mademoiselle, but that is an impossibility. Surely you are able to remember some of that beautiful music?" 

"Yes, of course I do. But I don't…"

"There is a piano on the stage." Almost as soon as he had said the words, Angelique felt compelled to go to the piano. "Why don't you try to play a little?"

"Piano? No, I really don't know how to…" Much to her surprise, Angelique found herself standing before the piano. "…play…" From somewhere in her mind, Angelique could hear a voice. She couldn't remember where she'd heard it before, but she sat down on the wooden bench and lifted the cover of the piano. "The white keys are the major scale, and the black ones are the sharps and flats," she murmured softly, repeating the lesson she had heard once before. But she couldn't remember where she had heard these words, and she gently set her fingers uncertainly on the keys.

"I'm sure it will be beautiful," the voice reassured her. It was as if the owner of the voice was standing just over her shoulder, but Angelique was more concerned with thinking of a piece to play.

"This may not sound right," she said softly. "It's called 'Although I Can't See You.' Rather appropriate for tonight, don't you think?" This earned a laugh from her unseen audience, and she bit her lip as she hoped she wouldn't make too big a fool of herself. She had never, to her knowledge, played a piano. 

Stretching her fingers for a moment, she allowed the music to play through her mind for a moment before she actually began touching the keys. The moment she depressed the first key, she knew it was a mistake. Angelique wanted to cry as she heard the beautiful melodies that played in her mind's eye reduced to an off-key jumble of notes, and she shook her head as her fingers slid from the keys.

"I'm sorry…" Looking down into her lap, her cheeks burned with embarrassment. Now she was glad that she couldn't see him. She could just imagine the look on his face, and she was sure she could hear him wondering why he had ever wanted to hear her music again. "I…I think I ruined it. Really, it wasn't supposed to sound like that."

"Why don't you try again?" His voice was warm, trying to coax her into playing again. Angelique fidgeted, still staring into the lap of her dress. "Just once more?"

"But it sounded so terrible…" Her voice was no more than a whisper, and to her eyes the piano looked more like some Medieval instrument of torture than anything that one would play music on. But at the urging of the voice, she placed her hands upon the keys again. Once more, her inability to comprehend the layout of the keys seemed to turn her beautiful music into a travesty, but the voice urged her on.

Miraculously, the notes began to make sense. Angelique didn't know how, but all of a sudden the keys seemed to be in the right places. Her fingers trembled as they fell over the keys, but the music was perfect. Once the piece had ended, she exhaled heavily. The voice laughed.

"Don't tell me you were holding your breath all that time, my dear!"

"I can't believe that really happened," Angelique said breathlessly, unable to pull her hands away from the keys. "I've never played the piano before…"

"Nevertheless, it was beautiful. It is as if your music comes straight from your soul, Mademoiselle." There was such admiration in the voice that Angelique wasn't sure he was talking to her. 

"Thank you…I wrote it for my parents the year I turned twenty. I'm glad you liked it, Monsieur." Standing up, she moved to close the piano cover.

"Would you favor me with another selection?"

"Of course, Monsieur!" Beaming, Angelique sat back down and began to play a second, faster piece. This time her hands were nearly flying across the keyboard, and when she finished this time, her unseen admirer burst into applause.

"Magnificent!"

"Shall I play you another?" Getting into the spirit of the moment, Angelique smiled brightly over her shoulder for a moment before she remembered that there was no one there. Still smiling, she began another piece. 

Somewhere within the sweeping chords and melodies of her playing, time lost all meaning. Although somewhere in the back of her mind, Angelique was sure that she was going to regret this the next day, she continued to play. 

* * *

Once she had finally gone, Erik felt completely winded. He knew for sure now that it was her, but he didn't know what he was going to do about it. The sun had come up, so he had gone back into the darkness which was his home. 

It hadn't occurred to him that her parents had died, although he should have known from the extent of her poverty. The family whom he had left her with had not been rich, but they weren't poor either. 

The songs she had played for him were still in his head, and he hung his tuxedo jacket up so that it wouldn't get wrinkled. As he did so, he couldn't help thinking about her. Despite the lovely dress she had been wearing, she still looked so thin. It was as if the dress was simply draped over her like a coat on a hanger, and he wondered if she would accept some more money from him.

And of course she wanted to see him. That much was inevitable, but this time he wondered whether or not he should reveal himself to her. When she was a child, she had never been afraid of him. Even when he took off his mask, she had looked at him as if he were any other man. But after so long, would she still be able to see him as just a man?

With a sigh, he rubbed his hand over his pale forehead as he removed his mask. Placing the small bit of porcelain on the edge of a small, finely finished table, Erik looked at his watch. The sun had long since come up, and he was becoming more and more tired. His thoughts were becoming more and more muddled, and he lay down to sleep for a while. Just before he drifted off, however, a thought crossed his mind. 

Perhaps…it was possible she would come again that night.

* * *

"Are you asleep over there?" Mme Lafours' angry voice broke through Angelique's dream, and she snapped her head back up.

"No, Madame! Of course I'm not asleep!" Smiling brightly, she went back to hemming the dress on her table as her employer gave her a warning look, then walked into the back room. The moment she was gone, Angelique put her head back down on the pile of fluffy material. It felt as if she had been awake for several days, and yet she couldn't help smiling to herself.

As tired as she was, she had loved every minute of it. So what if she couldn't actually see her patron? Just hearing his praise made up for it, and she hadn't felt tired at all until she left the opera house. 

The mystery of the piano still nibbled at the edge of her mind, but she dismissed it easily, explaining to herself that if she could think up music without any sort of proper training, she should be able to play the piano as well. After all, the piano was just the notes arranged in order. The black keys…and the white keys…sharps…flats… Her eyelids felt terribly heavy, and she wanted to go to sleep. The soft cloth beneath her cheek didn't help, and before she knew it, she was dozing off. 

When Mme Lafours came back into the front of the shop, she sighed. Something was definitely wrong with that girl, but she couldn't afford to let her sleep her shift away. She picked up a measuring stick and took it over to Angelique's table, where she smacked it onto the wood a few inches from the sleeping girl's face.

Startled, Angelique jumped up. For a moment, she was confused by the loud noise, thinking perhaps it was lightning. But when she saw it was Mme Lafours standing nearby her, she had known it was much worse than lightning.

"You know, Madame, this is rather funny…"

"Work!"

"Yes Madame…" Trying very hard to stay awake, Angelique went back to her sewing. Mme Lafours stood over her shoulder for a few minutes, trying to make sure that she didn't doze off again. 

Once she had gone away, Angelique kept herself from going back to sleep by thinking about the opera house, and about the voice of the man who had been so close to her, yet whom she couldn't see. She wanted to go back, if for no other reason than to simply hear his voice again. Absently snipping off the end of the thread, Angelique hoped that he would be there again that night. At least now she would have something to look forward to.

* * *

It was late, nearly midnight. Erik was beginning to doubt that she was even going to come back, and he almost laughed at himself. He didn't know what made him think that she would want to come back to this place. 

Just as he was about to give up, the door to the main theatre opened with a squeak. A dark little head looked into the room, and Erik smiled as he slipped into the wall silently. This might turn out well after all.

* * *

Every night after that, she came back to the theatre. Once they had exhausted the music Angelique had written, they had moved on to the classical pieces, and eventually to the pieces Erik had penned himself. She seemed to enjoy these most, wasting no time in telling him just how much she liked the music he had written. 

With each night that passed, Erik found himself anticipating her visits more and more, and Angelique found herself coming to the theatre earlier each night. Although she couldn't stop wondering about his identity, she didn't ask him any questions. The last thing she wanted was for him to stop coming to the theatre. Somehow, she managed to content herself with the sound of his voice.

When the dread Christmas finally came around, Erik was surprised to find that Angelique had left him a small present on the shelf of Box Five. He didn't actually find it for a few days afterwards, but it was obviously a Christmas present, wrapped up in festive paper.

Knowing that she didn't have much money, he was quite tempted to return it to her, but once he opened it he knew he couldn't without hurting her feelings. It wasn't anything too expensive, just a small snow globe which held a tiny replica of the Opera Populaire. She had given him a gift. But what did it mean? 

* * *

Humming absentmindedly, Angelique brushed her hair before the mirror. She was wearing the dress she had just finished that day, and she turned around in front of the mirror. It had occurred to her that although she couldn't see her patron, he could probably see her, and she wanted to look nice. 

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop thinking about his voice. She supposed that this wasn't too odd, since the sound of his voice was the only thing she knew about him. While she was working, Angelique had found herself trying to figure out what he might look like from the sound of his voice. 

Whenever he spoke, she felt so warm all over. It was always as if he was right beside her, and she was beginning to think that this was a nice feeling. Angelique smiled at herself in the mirror. She wondered if he thought she was pretty. Pushing that thought aside, she gathered the sides of her hair and made a small braid that served to keep her hair out of her face. Making sure that the rest of her hair was lying in the proper place, she grabbed her cloak and hurried out the door.

It seemed like it was always getting colder, and she blew into her hands as she hurried along the street to the opera house. It wasn't too long a walk, and she was glad it had stopped snowing for once. 

Angelique was pretty sure Paris hadn't seen so much snow in a great many years, and while it was quite lovely to look at, it was a nightmare to walk through. She was a little jealous of the people who were riding past her in the carriages, but it took her a moment to realize that it was already eleven thirty. Angelique stopped in the middle of the snowy sidewalk and looked after the carriage. Another one followed it almost immediately, and she wondered why there were people out traveling around at this time of night. Counting out the days on her fingers, she laughed out loud.

She couldn't believe that she hadn't remembered that it was already New Year's Eve. Walking faster this time, she shook her head. Another year…just what she needed. Maybe this year would be better than the one before. 

Lost in thought about what this year might bring, she didn't notice that a man was following her. He had noticed her when she stopped to think about the days, and when he had seen that she was walking towards the darkened opera house he had begun to follow behind her closely. Despite the crunching of the snow beneath his shoes, she still didn't hear him, and slipped into a side door of the Opera Populaire.

Unaware of the man behind her, Angelique walked through the deserted lobby and down the stairs. It was a little creepy in the place at night, but Angelique didn't think much of it. At first she had been a little nervous about walking through the opera house alone, but after a while she became more used to it.

The doors to the main theatre loomed before her, and she pushed them open slowly. She was grinning happily at the thought of being in the one place she loved most on the first night of the new year, and stepped into the theatre.

"Monsieur, are you here?" Not waiting for an answer, she pulled the hood away from her face with a smile. "Do you know that it's Ne---" Her words were cut off by a gasp of surprise as someone grabbed her from behind. 

Reflexively, she kicked her leg out at the unseen threat. This just served to pull her feet up off the ground and make it easier for her attacker to throw her onto the ground. Angelique cried out, more in anger than in pain, and her hands flew up to strike at the face of the man whose face was now in front of hers. Catching him a bit off guard, she managed to scratch his face, her nails drawing blood. Enraged, the man smacked his hand across her face. For a moment, Angelique's world went cloudy. 

Grabbing both her slender wrists in one of his hands, the man held her arms away from her body as he pulled her cloak away from her neck. Blood was streaming down his cheek in long streaks, and she could smell that there was alcohol on his breath. Her vision cleared a moment later, and with a grunt of effort, she kicked one leg out and caught him directly in the stomach. The man let go of her hands, giving her a moment to get her bearings. Angelique pulled back and punched the man as hard as she could in the face. 

While he was still reeling from the punch, she jumped up and started running up the aisle. Unfortunately, the wind had been knocked out of her when she hit the ground, and her chest was hurting too much to get very far. The man caught up with her easily, grabbing the back of her dress and throwing her against the wall. Angelique's head slammed backwards on the wall, and she slid down onto the floor weakly.

Groaning softly as the man grabbed her hands and pinned her to the ground, she was thankful that her world was starting to go dark. Everything was spinning around, and she closed her eyes. No more than a moment later, the weight of the man was abruptly lifted from her. Angelique's eyes fluttered open, and for a moment she wondered if she was still alive.

To her surprise, a man was standing over her. It seemed at first that he was dressed entirely in black, but once her vision cleared she could see that he was wearing a fine tuxedo and cloak, and a hat obscured most of his face. What wasn't hidden by the hat was covered by a white mask, causing her to wonder who her champion was.

He was holding her attacker by the throat, the man's feet more than an inch from the ground. The man was gasping for air, but it was apparently to no avail with the masked man. Angelique heard an odd sound, like a branch breaking, and everything began to grow fuzzy again.

"Are you alright?" A familiar voice was nearby, and she tried to open her eyes. But the darkness was more comforting, claiming her easily. Though she didn't realize it, a pair of strong arms enfolded her and carried her to safety, leaving the body of the other man behind as, outside, Paris celebrated the new year.

* * *

When she opened her eyes again, she was lying on a bed. The sheets over her body were cool, yet she wasn't sure where she was. Richly embroidered throw pillows were around her body, and a heavy blanket was folded at the foot of the bed. There were candles everywhere in elaborate candelabras, and yet it still seemed so dim. One thing was for sure…she wasn't in her apartment. Her body ached all over, and she murmured softly just to hear her own voice. 

At once, someone was by her side. Angelique tried to focus on who it was, but she was still so dizzy. For a moment, she couldn't remember what had happened. Then it came back to her in a rush, and she gasped softly.

"Are you in pain?" The man beside her spoke gently, and she tried to respond. Her mouth felt like it was full of cotton, though, so all she could manage was a murmur. "Don't worry, you're safe now."

"M'sieu…" Trying harder to speak, Angelique was rewarded by the coolness of a glass against her lips. Something sweet flooded into her mouth, forcing her to swallow. At once, the world began to spin again, but in a different way. This was a bit like floating, and she licked her lips. Mild laughter came from the blurry room, and the last thought that went through her mind before she fell asleep again was that she was safe.

* * *

Once she was asleep, Erik reached up to touch her face. There was a large bruise coming up on her smooth skin, and a completely new anger rose up in his chest. This was no way for any woman to be treated, much less a woman like her. But she was sleeping, and claimed she wasn't in any pain.

He would never forgive himself for being late that night. It had taken him longer than he had anticipated to select a gift for her, but he hadn't expected anything like this to happen. Showing up just in time to see her punch the man and try to run, he had gotten to her as quickly as he could, but as he watched her sleep he couldn't stop blaming himself. If only he had gotten there a little sooner, she might not have been hurt at all. 

The sedative had taken effect quicker than he thought, but Erik supposed that she was probably tired from working all day and coming to the opera house at night. Her face looked peaceful, and he was reminded of the nights he had spent by her bedside, simply watching her breathe.

Remembering that her present was still in his jacket, Erik left her room for a moment to get it. When he returned, taking his place back beside her bed, she was murmuring something in her sleep. It sounded a little like she was calling for her mother, and Erik reached over to take her hand. This seemed to calm her down, and he placed the present onto the nightstand by her bed. 

She might want to see it when she woke up.

* * *

A throbbing pain in her back awoke Angelique, and she opened her eyes to find that there was no one in the room with her. Sitting up, even a little, was a great effort thanks to the pain in her back, and she wondered why this was.

Though there was no one with her at the moment, she knew someone had been there when she last awoke. Was it her patron? Had he even given her his name? Looking around, she noticed that the room had no windows. She tried to remember something about the man who had been with her before she had fallen back asleep. A mask…had he been wearing a mask? Or was that just another one of her strange dreams?

Head aching, she lay back down on the pillows. They smelled to heaven of some sort of Oriental incense, and she pressed her face into them. Whatever it was, it was a familiar scent, and she snuggled her cheek against the pillows. This brought a painful sensation, and Angelique reached up to rub her face. Just the touch of her fingertips sent shards of pain through her face, and she resolved not to touch her face again until she could figure out what was wrong.

A mirror was on the far side of the room, and she pulled back the covers slowly as she looked around the room. It was beautifully furnished, and she wondered if her patron was some sort of nobleman. Her bare feet touched the ground gingerly, and were met by a soft rug of some sort. Kneeling down to feel the rug, she was amazed at just how soft it was. There were patterns all over it, and she figured that anything this fine had to be expensive. Quickly, she moved off it so as not to stand on it too long and crush it. The mirror was situated on the top of a lady's dressing table, which had a brush and several other ladies' toilet items lying on a little cloth. Amused, Angelique picked up what looked to be a tiny little toothbrush. Wondering exactly what ladies used this for, she turned it over in her hand. 

Glancing up at the mirror, she caught a glimpse of her face and frowned. It looked as if there were a shadow on one side of it, and she lay the little brush down before turning her head to see what was wrong with it. Stifling a cry, she brought a hand to her cheek in disbelief. The resulting pain informed her that she wasn't dreaming, and her eyes widened.

"What…what happened to me?" The words were no more than an exhalation of breath, and she stared into the mirror as if it would answer her. Suddenly, she thought she understood why her back was hurting.

A knock at the door made her jump about a foot into the air, backing up into the dressing table. The edge of the table brushed against the small of her back, sending all new pain shooting through her body, and she managed to gasp out an answer.

"Y-yes?"

"Are you awake, Mademoiselle?" His voice was familiar, but all Angelique could manage was a nod. She realized a bit too late that he couldn't see her, and as there was no answer from within the room, the door opened a crack. "Is something wrong?" Surprised to find that no one was in the bed, he pushed the door open more. Angelique could see that there was a tray of food in his hands, and she tried to smile as he saw that she was over by the dresser. "Ah, you're over there now."

"Not for long." Moving as fast as she could, Angelique crawled back into the bed. Her patron (she had decided it could be no one else) set the tray down, then turned to her so that in the dim light of the candles she could see that he was indeed wearing a white mask over half of his face.

"You were asleep for quite some time," he remarked, inadvertently glancing at her face. Angelique was suddenly self-conscious about the bruise, and she tried to turn a little so that he couldn't see it. "Does it hurt badly?"

"My back hurts more, actually." Trying not to stare at the mask was difficult, and she looked over at the pillows. "But these…ah…pillows are very soft."

"Do you remember what happened?" 

"Only that I walked into the opera house, and…" Suddenly, she felt very ill. Angelique pressed a hand to her lips as she remembered what had very nearly happened to her. "Oh my God…" 

"Don't think about it anymore." Seeming sorry he had even brought it up, the man reached over and handed her the wineglass from the tray. "Here, drink this."

"Thank you." As she drank, her eyes looked over the side of his face that was visible. For no apparent reason, her heart started beating faster. Bringing the glass away from her lips, she cleared her throat. "You saved me, Monsieur. How can I thank you?"

"By having something to eat. Every time I see you, it seems as if you look thinner." Without waiting for her answer, he handed her the tray. Although there wasn't a great amount of food on it, to Angelique it looked like a banquet. Not wanting to look greedy, she took a little piece of bread and started nibbling at it. "When you are feeling better, I shall take you back home." 

"Mm." The bread was softer than any she'd had before, and she resisted the urge to stuff it into her mouth. At least while he was watching. "Are you the one who I've been visiting at the opera house?" 

"Yes. I look forward to your visits, Mademoiselle, and I do hope this nasty incident won't keep you from returning to see me." His voice was even nicer when she could see him, and she smiled.

"Nothing could, Monsieur. No one has ever wished to hear my music before, not to mention I am now in your debt for saving my life." Brightly, she went back to eating, and the man looked a bit sad. "Is something wrong?"

"I only wish I could have stopped him before he hurt you at all." His hand reached out towards her, as if he were going to touch her cheek, but he stopped a few inches short and shook his head. Angelique looked at him strangely, then sipped the wine again. There was a silence, and he stood up. "If you need anything, please call for me."

"How should I call for you?" Her eyes followed him across the room, and he paused at the door for a moment before turning to her.

"Erik. My name is Erik." With that, he left. Angelique watched him go, then acted on her first impulse and began eating the food as fast as she could. Some part of her worried that it would disappear if she left it alone too long. 

Outside her door, Erik leaned on the wall and sighed. This was not what he had planned. If she was going to be down here for any length of time, he was going to have to control himself. The walk to his room seemed the longest of his life, and it was a while before he would return to check on her. 

* * *

When he did return, he found her lying on the bed looking ill. Concerned, he hurried to her side, only to hear her groan softly.

"Mademoiselle, are you alright?"

"I don't feel quite so well." Her little hand was covering her eyes, and Erik caught a glance of the dinner tray. It was completely empty, and the plate looked as if she had cleaned it off with a rag.

"Did you eat all that just now?" She answered with another groan, and he laughed. "I fear that you have overeaten, my dear Mademoiselle." 

"I believe I'm dying," she murmured, placing another hand on her stomach. Erik shook his head as he leaned over her. 

"No, you are not. But perhaps it would be better if you got back under the blankets." This elicited a shake of her head.

"It's hot under there." One eye peered up at him. "Would you go away for a moment? I don't mean to be rude, but could you?"

"Of course!" He moved towards the door, then looked back at her. "I shall go out into the hallway, and you can call for me when you wish me to return."

"Don't go too far," she said softly. There was something in her voice that Erik could not distinguish, and he tried to figure it out while he stood in the hallway. 

Inside the room, Angelique managed to drag herself out of the bed. Unbuttoning her dress, she stepped out of it and gently lay it on the bench that sat before the dressing table. Steeling herself for what she knew was not going to be a pretty sight, she turned her back to the mirror and unbuttoned her slip. Sliding it off her shoulders, Angelique closed her eyes. The white cotton garment fell around her ankles, and she took a deep breath as she prepared herself. 

When she opened her eyes, it was almost worse than she had thought it would be. Most of her back was a shade of purple one usually finds in flowers, with darker blackish-purple streaks running through it. Angelique felt a little sick, and a shocked sound came out of her mouth. It must have been louder than she intended, because there was a soft knock at the door.

"Mademoiselle?"

"Just a moment!" Angelique pulled the slip back up over her body, and began buttoning it as she went towards the bed. Grimacing with pain, she made it back into the bed and pulled the covers over her legs. "Come in!"

"I heard you cry out…is everything alright?" Erik's face was covered with worry, and she nodded. She started braiding her hair slowly, and he sat next to her. Angelique noticed that he was no longer wearing his fine clothes of the night before. Instead, he was wearing a wine-colored smoking jacket over an immaculate white shirt, and she smiled.

"I'm fine now."

"How is your stomach feeling, Mademoiselle?" 

"Still a little odd. But really, I'd prefer if you would call me Angelique. Mademoiselle seems so formal, and we can't have that now that you've seen me in my nightgown, can we?" Eyes as blue as jewels turned to him, and Erik was struck.

"Of course not. I shall call you anything you want." Cautiously, he offered her his hands, which she slipped her own into without faltering. Her eyes turned to gaze at his mask thoughtfully.

"Why do you wear that?" It seemed a harmless enough question, but Erik pulled his hands away from her at once. Angelique looked a little hurt, and set her own hands back into her lap. "I'm sorry, Monsieur."

"Forget it." The words came out a little more abrupt than he had intended, and he reached over to her nightstand. "Here, this is for you." Slowly, she looked up at him. Erik handed her the little box, and she turned it over in her hands.

"What is this for?"

"It is a Christmas present." As soon as he said this, her eyes lit up happily. "I never thanked you for the one you gave to me."

"There's no need for that," Angelique said, shaking her head. She looked at the little box. "May I open this?"

"By all means, yes! I hope you enjoy it," he said, although he suspected that she was enjoying simply opening the box. Putting aside the colorful paper, she opened the little box within and pulled out the actual present.

"Oh! It's wonderful!" Sitting in the palm of her hand was a small jade elephant wearing a little golden saddle. It was perfect in every detail, and she laughed. "Wherever did you get this?"

"It's been so long, I can't recall. Do you like it?"

"Very much! I've never had anything so pretty in my life!" Her fingertips fluttered over the elephant's trunk, and she smiled up at Erik. "Thank you so much, this is the loveliest thing anyone has ever given me!"

"My dear, I'm glad you like it." Watching her face light up was thanks enough for him, and she kept turning the little elephant over in her hands. 

"I love it!" Still grinning, she hugged the little piece of jade to her chest. "I haven't had a real Christmas present in years." 

"I hope you can forgive the lateness of it."

"You could have given it to me on St. Valentine's day and I still would love it!" A sudden pain poked her in the stomach, and she rubbed it gently. Erik looked at her, concerned. Angelique smiled. "I'm all right. Would you be terribly upset if I went to bed right now?"

"Of course not! My only thoughts are of your happiness." Picking up the tray, he started out of the room. Angelique placed the little elephant on her nightstand, then moved down under the covers. "If you should need anything during the night, just call for me and I shall be here."

"You've been most kind to me, Monsieur Erik. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it." The only light in the room was from the candles, and he turned to smile at her from the doorway. 

"Good night, Angelique."

"Good night."

* * *

As he closed the door, Erik lingered in the hallway outside her room for a minute. But no sound came from within, and he began his slow journey down the hallway. It became apparent just a moment later that she wasn't going to need him any more, and he disappeared into his room.

Putting the tray down and taking off his mask, he sat before the barrel organ that was in his room. Maybe if he played a little music, he could take his mind off the woman who was sleeping down the hall. All he could think about was the way she had spoken to him, asking him not too go too far away. 

It was too much to ask that she might actually care for him. True, she did seem to regard him as a friend, and that was more than most wished to think about him. But she didn't seem to want to leave his home, and Erik certainly wasn't about to force her to go.

On their own, his hands began to work out the notes of a slow, lingering melody. It was relaxing, and he hoped that if Angelique hadn't already fallen asleep, this would help her to do so.

* * *

In the darkness, Angelique's eyes fluttered open. Something had awakened her, but she didn't know what. She didn't know if it was a dream or whether something else had awakened her. For a moment she was frightened, and the very first thought that came into her mind was to call out for Erik. From the silence in the house, however, she figured that he wasn't awake and didn't want to disturb him.

The candles had long since gone out, and she wasn't even sure what time it was. Time had lost all meaning for her, and the stillness of the suite she was in compounded this feeling. All her senses were enhanced by the lack of light, and the spicy scent of the Orient surrounded her like a blanket.

Reaching out for no reason, not even knowing what she was going to find, the back of her hand hit something that was sitting on the nightstand. At first she was afraid that she had broken something, but there was no crash from the side of the bed. Instead, there was a mechanical sound, as if something very old was forcing itself to come to life.

All at once, notes began to tumble out of the air. Gasping softly, Angelique fumbled in the dark until her hand closed around an oval shaped object. She could tell from the shape that it was a music box, and the lid was open. It was too large for one hand, so she reached over with both of her hands to get a hold on it. When she pulled it to her, the lid fell down and stopped the music. Carefully, she reopened the music box and let the sounds begin again.

This time, she hummed softly along with the notes. The melody, which was emanating from the tired springs and gears of the music box, was the same one that she had been singing for years. Running her fingers along the edge of the box, she could feel its velvety lining and cool wooden casing. Something was inlaid on the lid, but in the dark there was no way of telling what it was.

Countless thoughts ran through her mind. When had she heard this music before? Had she been in this room another time in her life? To her knowledge, her parents hadn't owned a music box. Certainly not a music box like this, and the tune was locked into her memory so firmly…yet it seemed like a distant memory. 

Falling back onto the pillows with the box in her hands, the scent of the pillows rose up around her. As the music and the fragrance of the Far East enveloped her, Angelique closed her eyes and thought about Erik. He had been so kind to her, even though she had never met him before. At least now she had a name to go with the voice that had inspired several dreams. Still, he was definitely a far cry from the man she had imagined all the nights they had spent at the opera, in the embrace of music. But the more she knew about him, the more mystery she found. It was as if this man was an enigma from head to foot, and yet she was entranced by him.

Erik's laughter rang through her head, and all of a sudden something clicked in her mind. Slamming the music box shut, Angelique sat bolt upright in bed. It couldn't be…it simply…

Throwing back the covers with one hand as she held the music box to her hand with the other, she stumbled through the darkness to the door of her room. Somehow she found the doorknob and twisted it roughly. The door creaked loudly as it opened into darkness, and Angelique didn't know where she should be going. Somewhere in the unending blackness, she heard a footstep. Frozen where she stood, Angelique pressed the music box to her chest. 

"E-erik?" Her voice caught in her throat, and out of nowhere a door opened. Illuminated by the gentle glow of the candelabra in his hand, Erik stepped out into the long hallway. The light fell over Angelique's cotton-clothed body, and her face was covered with fear.

"Angelique! When did you wake up?" Walking towards her, he noticed the music box. "I thought you might enjoy that. Did it disturb you?"

"Oh, no, I don't know what woke me up. But this music box…I knew the song from somewhere. Where did it come from?" Holding it up, she opened the lid so she could hear the music one more time. "This song…I remember it from when I was a child. I used to hum it when I was sad."

"There…" As he tried to speak, Erik's words faltered into silence. "There is a reason you know this music." Even in the darkness of the hallway, Erik could see that Angelique's eyes were wide. He cleared his throat. "I thought it would be too much for you to hear after what happened in the opera house...but I was going to explain it to you." 

"Are you…" Before she could speak, Angelique silenced herself. She couldn't bring herself to ask the question she had intended, and as Erik took a step towards her he noticed that her face had gone completely white. His face was grave, and the thoughts in her mind finally got to be too much for her. Angelique's knees buckled, and Erik leapt forward to catch her. Somehow she managed to hang onto the music box, but the candelabra in his hand fell onto the floor. Once more the hallway was plunged into darkness, and Angelique felt a pair of arms around her.

Then she was being raised up, into the air. She was certain she hadn't been more than a few steps from her bedroom, yet it seemed as if they were moving for an eternity. Next to her cheek, she could hear Erik's heart beating. For a moment, she wasn't entirely sure that she was awake. But one of the hinges of the music box was digging into the flesh of her arm, and this was the only thing that told her she was awake.

Gently, he placed her onto the bed and pulled the covers over her thin frame. His footsteps moved away from her, it seemed for an eternity, and Angelique gripped the music box tighter. Could this man really be the father who had given her up? If so, why? He didn't seem to be poor, and he truly seemed to care for her.

An awful thought crept into her mind. In the short amount of time that she had known him, Angelique was fairly certain that she had been developing some sort of feelings for him. Even if it was nothing more than an infatuation, she still couldn't deny that she had felt something. If he was her father…she didn't want to think about it. 

On the other side of the room, several candles lit up. Erik turned around, most of his face still in shadow. Angelique's stomach cramped up again, and she looked down at the music box. The question was still on her lips, but she didn't know how to ask it. His face was so concerned for her, and she couldn't bear to look up at him.

Silently, he pulled the bench from the dressing table to her bedside and sat next to her. Angelique's eyes darted up to meet his gaze for a moment, then rested back on the music box. Now, in the light, she could see that it was a bundle of wildflowers that were inlaid on the lid of the box. The ribbon which held them together was a light blue, and it seemed as if it were going to flutter with the slightest breeze. Her fingers crept over the flowers slowly, trying to learn their pattern.

"Tell me, Angelique, what is bothering you so much?" The gentle voice she had become accustomed to hearing was near her once more, and she knew she couldn't avoid the question any longer.

"Since I was little, I knew that my parents had found me, that I wasn't their daughter. But I always wondered who my mother and father were…" Taking a deep breath, she looked up at him. "The music box, the incense…everything here is so familiar to me…am I…I mean…"

"Don't be ludicrous, child. I am most certainly not your father, if that's what you're thinking."

"You…aren't?" The words filled her simultaneously with relief and disappointment as she spoke them, and Erik gave her a look.

"I daresay I would remember something like that. In any case, though, this isn't the first time you have been in this room. When I found you, you were hardly a day old, crying as if someone was torturing you. It was winter; I couldn't just leave you there or you would have frozen to death. So I brought you here with me." As he spoke, Angelique sat perfectly still in her bed, watching him intently. "You were such a quiet child…that's why I called you Angelique. But of course, you couldn't stay here. It isn't a suitable place for a child at all."

"What was…I mean, when I was a little girl, what was I like?" Her mind was full of questions that she had wanted to ask her parents, but she tried to restrain herself.

"Quiet. You hardly ever cried or spoke, and you were always watching everything. I must admit that I thought you were unwell for a time. But you used to watch me play the organ, as soon as you were old enough to get out of your bassinet." He laughed, remembering something. "You gave me an awful fright when you crawled up beside me…I wasn't expecting a small person to join me on the bench. Although I can't recall how you learned to walk."

"Really?" Trying to think of something else to ask him that wouldn't sound silly, she looked at her hands. Her eyes lit on the bracelet, her most beloved possession. "Did this bracelet come from you?"

"Yes. It belonged to my mother. I thought you might like it when you got older." From behind the mask, he smiled. "Was I correct?"

"I haven't taken it off since I got it. Sometimes, after my parents died, I would imagine who might have given me this bracelet…especially when I was sad. It kept me from crying sometimes." Toying with the bracelet on her wrist, Angelique smiled thoughtfully. Unsure if he had heard her right, Erik looked a little closer at her.

"Exactly when did your parents die?"

"When I was fifteen. I wonder sometimes if it was my fault…" The look on Erik's face informed her that clarification was necessary, and she shook her head. "My father wanted to take me to see an opera, because I kept going on and on about the newspapers. We were going to visit my aunt first, and the horses got spooked. My parents were killed by some robbers. Why they let me live, I've never understood." 

"Oh…" Erik had been under the impression that they had passed away recently, possibly of natural causes. Looking back at Angelique, he noticed that as she talked about her parents, she began to play nervously with the bracelet. "Forgive me, dear girl. I didn't mean to upset you."

"You haven't!" At once she was smiling again, but there was a sorrow in her eyes that she couldn't conceal. Erik wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms until she was truly happy again, but all he could do was offer her a hand. Angelique took it at once, trying to smile. "Good heavens, your hands are cold!" Looking concerned, Angelique began rubbing his hands between hers, trying to warm them. The innocent futility of her gesture touched Erik's heart in a way which was both worrying and comforting, and he pulled his hands away gently. 

"Are you going to return to your home tomorrow?" The words came out more curtly than he had intended, and Angelique shrugged gently.

"I suppose I shall. Although to tell you the truth, I hadn't really thought too much about it." She stretched down to touch her feet, and the sleeveless nature of her slip revealed part of the bruises on her back. "Although I must confess…" Looking back up, she saw that Erik was looking at her, shocked. "What?"

"Your back…I hadn't realized that he had hurt you so much." 

"Oh, those. I guess when he…he threw me on the wall…" Angelique's voice trembled, and Erik shook his head. 

"Don't say anymore about that, it only makes me angry. But tell me, what were you about to say?" Erik didn't want to admit that it caused him pain to see her upset, and she smiled at the welcome change of subject.

"Just that I've become quite fond of this place…as well as of the company." The last bit of her sentence was much softer than the first part, but Erik heard it as clearly as if she had shouted it. 

"If you wish, you can stay here. In truth, I would much prefer it if you did stay. While that particular man no longer poses a threat to you, there are always others who will not be quite so drunk." There was a fury glittering in his eyes that Angelique didn't want to risk incurring. 

"Then I shall stay. But how will I get to work? Mme Lafours will surely be missing me after I've been gone for a day…" As soon as she said it, Angelique knew something was up. Erik's eyes shifted away from her, causing her to lean forward. "I have only been gone a day, haven't I?"

"You were…in a great deal of pain." Reluctantly, he turned his eyes back to her. "I couldn't bear to see you suffering so much, so every time you awoke I gave you something for the pain, and to help you sleep."

"How long have I been out?" Angelique leaned closer to him, her eyes serious. Once again, he looked away from her. "How long, Erik!"

"Three days. It was just today that you were able to move about without too much pain. Even if I had taken you back, you would have been no good up there. Besides that, I didn't know if there was anyone to take care of you, so I took it upon myself. I didn't mean to offend you." Somehow, she didn't look offended. She looked more confused.

"Up there? What do you mean, up there?" 

"It's a bit hard to explain." He had known this would be inevitable, but he worried that she would be frightened when she learned where they were. Carefully, he explained to her that under the fifth cellar in the opera house was a lake, and so forth until her eyes lit up with understanding.

"We're under the Opera Populaire?" The fact that this didn't frighten her was a bit worrying to Erik, but he nodded. "That means you must be…" Again she was silent, thinking about something. Erik looked at her mildly, wondering what she was thinking. Then she nodded firmly. "Now there's no way I can leave." She lay back on the pillows and pulled the covers up around her face, not bothering to explain her words. 

A moment later, Erik closed the door to her room. This was doubtlessly a confusing woman. But still, there was something about her that seemed to be pulling him closer and closer to her. No matter how hard he tried to keep himself from feeling something for her, he couldn't.

Quietly, he opened the door and looked into her room. She was lying there in the darkness, a tiny shape under the mounds of blankets. He wondered what she had meant by liking the company. There was a rustling of sheets as she rolled over into the pillows, and he closed the door again. 

As he walked down the hall, Erik contented himself with knowing that she wanted to return. For now, that was all he needed.

* * *

Standing at the edge of the lake near the entrance to the Rue Scribe, Angelique blinked. The gate was huge, stretching up into the darkness, and she looked back at Erik. 

"How do I get back?"

"This is the key to both the gate here and the one in front of my home. I am entrusting this to you, so do not lose it. I would not want anyone coming into my home without my knowledge." There were several small steps in front of the gate, and Erik helped her up them. When they reached the gate, he unlocked it and handed the key to Angelique, along with some money. "There. For god's sake, buy yourself some gloves."

"I can't take this money." Angelique shook her head and held the money back out to him. Erik gave her a look which left no room for discussion of the matter, and she reluctantly tucked the money into her cloak. "You are an exasperating man."

"I do try my best. Now go on, before someone sees you." He pulled the gate closed and looked at Angelique. "Lock it behind you."

"Thank you, Erik." Doing as he asked, she placed the key into her pocket alongside the money. For some reason the sight of his masked face behind the gate made her heart ache, and she pressed her hands to the bars for a moment, wrapping her fingers around the unyielding iron. "I shall return as soon as I can." 

"I shall look forward to it." There was another moment of silence, and Angelique looked at him with a smile.

"Until then," she said, hurrying up the stairs to the Rue Scribe. Just before she went up to the surface, she waved to Erik with a smile. He raised a hand in return to her gesture, and she picked up her skirt and emerged into the light of morning. When she was completely gone, Erik shook his head. She was so beautiful. How could he ever hope that someone like her would love someone who looked like him?

Above, Angelique nearly ran to her apartment. Humming happily, she opened the door to her tiny room and went to her closet. For some reason it felt like a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders, and she selected the nicest wool dress she had. It wasn't quite as fancy as the one she had worn the night before, but she could always come back to change before she went back down to see Erik.

Turning towards her nightstand, she noticed that the red rose he had given her was still lying on the nightstand. It had long since dried out, but somehow managed to keep its shape perfectly. Not a single petal had fallen, and the color had only slightly faded in the time she had been gone. Angelique was tempted to pick it up, but was afraid that she would crush it by doing so. Leaving it where it was, she smiled. The sun was rising rapidly into the sky, and she had to get to Mme Lafours' shop before the woman thought she was dead.

As she rushed down the street to the shop, she noticed that there was a crowd of police officers swarming around the Opera Populaire. Slowing a little as she approached it, she wondered if she had left any sign that she was there. One of the Surete turned to look at her, and Angelique hurried out of their sight. There was something uncomfortable about the way they were looking at her.

On her way to the shop, she noticed a young man selling newspapers on the corner. Walking past him, she noticed that the front page said something about the opera house. Interested, Angelique pulled some of the money Erik had given her out of her pocket and purchased it. Unfolding it as she walked, she quickly scanned the words on the front page. As she read them, she started laughing.

Being New Years Eve, no one had actually gone into the theatre until January 2nd. According to the paper, the managers had found the body of an unidentified man in the main theatre that morning. It was also reported that the man's neck was broken along with several cuts on his face and what looked to be a broken nose. Angelique was slightly amused by this. She had never known that she could break someone's nose. 

The managers were officially saying that it was nothing more than an accident, but an editorial in the side column voiced the opinion that perhaps the Phantom of the Opera was not dead after all. The bell over the door of the sewing shop jingled as she walked inside, but Angelique was too busy laughing to think about it. She wished she could have seen MM. Andre and Firmin's faces when they walked into the theatre that morning, and this thought made her laugh more.

Mme Lafours appeared out of nowhere, her face showing a bizarre mixture of relief and anger as she saw Angelique standing in the doorway reading a paper. She marched up to the girl and snatched the paper out of her hand.

"Mademoiselle DuBain! Where have you been for…for the…oh, my God…" The newspaper fluttered to the floor of the shop as Mme Lafours saw the huge bruise on this side of Angelique's face. "Child, what happened to you?"

"Hm?" Suddenly, Angelique realized what the Surete had been staring at. She had almost forgotten about the bruise on her cheek, and she smiled at Mme Lafours. "This is nothing, really. I was knocked down by a robber, that's all!" Angelique picked up her newspaper and folded it carefully as she went towards her sewing table. The older woman watched her closely as she picked up the dress she had been working on.

"Are you quite alright? You were gone so long, I was afraid something terrible happened to you, especially with those strange things going on at the opera house again!" This was the first time Mme Lafours had ever shown her any sort of concern, and it worried Angelique greatly.

"Madame, I was simply a bit ill. I would just like to get started on my work, if you don't mind. After all, I have been gone for several days." Picking up her work again, she began sewing at the hem of a dress. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Mme Lafours staring at her for a little while, and Angelique knew she was looking at the bruise. At once she wished she were back with Erik. He wouldn't stare at her face, no matter how bad it looked.

With a soft sigh, she let her mind wander along to the subject of Erik, and of the house below the ground. Already, she longed to be back in the soft bed, to be in a room where there was someone to talk to, and someone who wanted to listen. Feeling more than a little silly, she wondered what exactly it was that was attracting her to him. Mostly, she supposed it was his voice. Erik did have quite a lovely voice. 

Letting a smile crack her usually blank visage, her mind wandered off to the music she had heard the night before. Not sure when she had awoken, she had been easily lulled back into her dreams by the beautiful, haunting voice singing songs down the hall. His deep voice was like a siren's call, inviting her to come to him, to forget any hope of sleep she might have had. For a moment, she lay the thick dress down on the table, her usually quick hands lying still on the fabric. 

Could it be possible that he was thinking of her as well?

Going back to her sewing, Angelique shook her head. She fancied that she sounded like a silly little schoolgirl, the way she was letting herself get carried away with these frivolous romantic thoughts. 

Instead, her mind found comfort in the music that had quite suddenly formed itself in her mind. As the notes of the new piece wrapped themselves around her, the smile on her face widened. Soon she was completely lost, and before she even realized it, lunchtime was upon her and just after that, Mme. Lafours was telling her to go home and get some rest.

Excited, Angelique raced out the door of the shop. Above her, the stars of the New Year were twinkling in a surprisingly clear sky. For the first time since she was a child, she stretched her hands up into the sky, trying to touch one of the faraway objects. The wind was cold against her face, but it felt perfect as she closed her eyes. As she stood, hands reaching to the heavens, it began to snow again. With each tiny flake that landed, on her face, she somehow managed to feel a little calmer.

"What on Earth is that woman doing?" A pair of young lovers was walking on the opposite side of the street, and Angelique heard the man's voice clearly through her fugue but made no move. The woman's voice piped up next, snapping Angelique out of her trance.

"Not quite right…"

"Sad in one so young…" They passed by quickly as she pulled her head up to look at them, and Angelique laughed as she hurried to the clothier's to buy her gloves. Passing by the opera house, she noticed that the doors were still roped off. Unconsciously, her hand slipped into her pocket and touched the key Erik had given her. With a little grin, she ran the rest of the way to the store. She couldn't wait to tell Erik about her new piece of music. This one would be her best ever.

Outside the clothiers, the snowflakes filled in her footprints slowly.


	5. Notre Dame de Paris

Notre Dame de Paris

"Idiots! All of them!" Angelique stormed into Erik's room and threw the sheaf of music onto the edge of his organ. This didn't seem to bother him, and he looked up at her slowly. In the weeks since she had been coming to his house, she had become all too familiar with the boat across the lake, and didn't seem worried in the least about the rather macabre condition of his room. At the moment, there were much more pressing things to deal with.

"I take it you paid a visit to the Opera Populaire today?" Picking up the music, Erik leafed through it as Angelique folded her arms and leaned obstinately on the edge of the organ. "How did Messieurs Andre and Firmin enjoy it?"

"The fools did everything but throw it in my face!" Her face was flushed with anger, and Erik set the music on his stand. Personally, he found it to be one of her best pieces. The way he saw it, the managers at the opera simply didn't know quality.

"What did you expect?" 

"I don't know," she grumbled as she kicked the wall a little. 

"I'll thank you not to kick my walls." 

"Hmph. I don't know why we even patronize the opera anymore." Annoyed, Angelique sat heavily next to him on the bench. Since the first night she had returned, Erik had begun taking her with him to the opera. This seemed to make her immensely happy, until this moment. "It's all beginning to sound the same anyway."

"Are you sure nothing else happened today to provoke this foul mood?" Though he had come to see a completely different side of Angelique since she had started spending a good deal of her time with him, his feelings for her had not changed a bit. The fact was that the more she lost her temper, the more he liked her. Erik had come to take her bad moods in stride, since she was usually more likely to be in a good mood.

"Have I ever told you how much I hate working for that evil woman?" Two weeks previous, the other main seamstress had quit the sewing shop when she got pregnant. Angelique had been carrying two workloads ever since, as well as working on her music at night. It was much easier to write music with an organ to test out her notes, and Erik seemed to enjoy watching her test her musical theories.

"Many times. Are you hungry?" Usually, he could bring her out of her moods quite easily. This time was no different. Angelique nodded.

"Yes, very. I had to skip lunch today to work on a christening dress." She looked up at Erik as he stood, then offered her a hand to help her up. Angelique took it eagerly, and they went down the stairs.

"If you're so unhappy there, why don't you just quit?" It was a question he had asked her many times, but Angelique never seemed to have an answer for it. Erik suspected that she just liked having something to keep her busy when she wasn't writing music, which Angelique confirmed with her sigh.

"I'm sorry, I'm just a bit annoyed about the music." There was food waiting for her on the table, and Angelique looked up at Erik. "Don't tell me you aren't going to eat anything again."

"Forgive me, my dear, but food simply doesn't interest me. It never has." He pulled out her chair as he always did, but Angelique ignored it as she folded her arms over her chest.

"Then it doesn't interest me either." Looking off at one of the tapestries on the wall, Angelique gave it an uninterested glance. However, Erik had not had the best of days either. She was trying his patience, and finally he snapped.

"If that's the way you want it, so be it!" With one smooth sweep of his arm, the dishes flew off the table and crashed against the floor. The rich foods and wine created an odd design on the wall, and Angelique gave him a disinterested look.

"I've gone without food before. You're not hurting me any." With that, she stalked up the stairs to her room. "I will see you in an hour." The fact that his usual tactics didn't intimidate her was even more infuriating, and Erik looked up the stairs after her as her door slammed.

"And just what makes you think I want to take you to the opera!" There was no answer, and Erik's hands clenched into fists. This was not the first argument they had. The first one had been over her being late to meet him at the opera house. But just like this time, she simply folded her arms and waited for him to finish ranting at her. Though he hadn't asked her much about the time between when her parents had died and when she had come back to Paris, he was sure that she had learned her indifference to anger somewhere along that way.

Locking himself in his room, Erik began playing the Dies Irae quite loudly. He hoped that she got the message. Forty-five minutes later, he emerged from his room in his cloak and tuxedo. Angelique's door was still closed, and he knocked on it.

"Are you quite ready?" A moment later, the door swung open. Angelique gave him an irritated look.

"You hit two wrong notes in the Pie Jesu." With that, she breezed past him and down the stairs. Quelling the rage that immediately arose in his throat, Erik followed her. Angelique wasn't anywhere in sight, and he supposed that she was already in the boat when he noticed that the dining table, as well as the immediate area around the table, was completely cleaned. There was something about this simple gesture that made the fire die down a little, and he hurried out the door to the boat.

Just as he had surmised, Angelique was sitting in the bow on several pillows. She looked at him, silently asking if he had seen what she had done. Erik stepped into the boat without a word and began moving them across the misty water.

Though she was dying to say something else about the mistake in the Pie Jesu, she decided that it was probably better to keep quiet. Angelique knew good and well that she was being completely irrational that evening, but she could have cared less. Not only was she taking on Mirelle's workload along with her own, but Mme Lafours was giving her extra work to do as well.

Considering for a moment Erik's suggestion to quit, she smiled a little. As she tried to imagine the look on the old bag's face if she were to walk up and tell her she was quitting, Erik looked at her.

"Those notes were artistic license."

"Of course they were."

* * *

The selected opera for that night was Verdi's Aida, and Angelique watched it closely. For the first time in weeks, she actually seemed interested. Erik supposed this was because she was amused by the Egyptian costumes. Also, it had become clear that she was a fan of Verdi. Erik had seen Aida many times, and as a result was more involved in thinking about the woman sitting next to him. She was unconsciously doing torturous things to her programme, and he considered taking it away from her.

From the first night she had come back to his house, knocking softly at the door, she had been growing ever more comfortable with him. She never asked about the mask, although many times he caught her looking at it when she thought he wasn't watching. At first, she had acted as if she were a guest, knocking on doors and asking for something to drink. Some nights he would find her wandering through the place, examining everything. Angelique had told him that this was because she sometimes remembered things from when she was little, and she would get up to search for them.

But as time marched on, Angelique had started behaving like she belonged in his house. This was perfectly fine with him, however, but when he had become angry with her for being late to the opera house, he had immediately regretted his words. Although he couldn't remember what he had said, he knew that the times he couldn't remember were the worst. Despite his words, she had still accompanied him back to the house.

"Don't you think you've done enough to that programme?" 

"Hm?" Angelique looked down at her hands, realizing that she had been twisting the paper around in her hands since the first act. "Oh, dear." Carefully untwisting it, she set it across her lap. 

"Is the opera not to your satisfaction this evening?"

"On the contrary, I'm enjoying it quite a lot. The masters certainly have more to offer than those pathetic attempts at operas that those 'fashionable' writers are issuing out in such numbers these days." The night's argument seemed to be forgotten, and Erik nodded his agreement.

"You're quite right about that, my dear. But the fools who run my theatre don't consider anything that doesn't bring in money art." 

"How irritating. I could write better opera than that trash we were subjected to last week." Smoothing her programme down with her hands, she looked up at Erik. "If I could write a decent lyric, I would." For a moment, she was quiet as she watched the spectacle taking place below her on the stage. "Didn't you say you'd written an opera?"

"As a matter of fact, I did."

"May I see it?" There was something glowing in her eyes, and Erik tried to discern what it was. 

"Of course you may. I believe there's a copy of it somewhere." His words seemed to thrill her, and she leaned back in her chair with a smile. "What is on your mind?"

"Just an idea. It's nonsense, really." Through the rest of the opera, she seemed quiet. Angelique snuck a look at Erik as he watched the opera. The idea was still forming in her mind, and she smiled wider. But still she offered no explanation, and Erik didn't bother to ask.

* * *

From the moment he handed Angelique the score of _Don Juan Triumphant_, he knew that something was going on in her head, although he wasn't quite sure what. Perhaps it was the manic giggling. Once he had given it to her, she disappeared into her room for quite some time.

While she was in her room, Erik sat at his organ. For the life of him, he still couldn't figure out why she had cleaned up the mess in the dining room. The argument itself had been brief, but it was still preying on his mind. 

Outside the room, there was a slam followed by the sound of footsteps running down the hall. They faded quickly, then arose once more as the owner of the feet returned back down the hall. The whole episode ended with the slam of a door again, and Erik shook his head. She really was quite an odd woman.

Just a few minutes later there was another slam from down the hallway, and the door to his room flew open. Erik thought he would never get used to the way Angelique would walk right into his room. More than once, he wondered why she was never bothered by the strange combination of red and black that outfitted his room, the open coffin, and the huge Dies Irae on the wall. 

Angelique hurried over to the organ, score in hand, and dropped it rather unceremoniously onto the stand. Erik looked at her, and she leaned over his shoulder to point at a certain place in the music.

"Play there, please." Her slender finger ran over the notes, and Erik began to play them, amused by her fascination with his opera. As he did so, Angelique continued to lean over his shoulder. Warmth was emanating from her body as it brushed lightly against his arm, and a soft cloud of fragrance enveloped him. On her face was the same look he had seen when she was a tiny child, a wrinkle of concentration covering her brow as if by watching him very closely she would be able to unlock the secrets of music. Resisting the urge to reach up and pull her into his arms, Erik finished the piece. In response, Angelique clapped her hands together. "Magnificent!" Reaching over him, she flipped the pages until she found the part she liked. "Here, play at the _andante_."

"Haven't I taught you how to play the piano?" Erik gave her a half-serious look, and she nodded.

"Yes, but I want to hear you sing it." Just the words would have been sweet enough to Erik's ears, but the tone in which she said them was more than enough to convince him to play for her. One of her hands lit upon his shoulder like a nervous butterfly as his hands began to work out the melody.

As he sang, the notes of the love song worked their way around the hearts of both performer and audience, and for a moment Erik felt her fingers tighten on his shoulder. A soft sigh escaped her lips, and he realized that her voice was just next to his ear. The very moment that the precious notes dwindled into nothingness, Angelique sat beside him on the bench.

"Erik, that was beautiful! The music…the lyrics…" Suddenly, Angelique reached over to grasp his hands. "I want to write an opera."

"My dear, I don't think you realize just what writing an opera entails. It can be extremely…" Angelique interrupted him, her eyes wide.

"I want to write an opera, Erik. I want to write an opera and I want you to write the lyrics." By this time, her eyes were burning madly. He knew at once that there was to be no more argument about it. If there was just one thing he had learned about this woman, it was that she was almost as obsessive as he was about her music.

"Very well. If this is what you truly want, then I shall do everything in my power to help you achieve it."

"You're wonderful!" Angelique laughed excitedly as she pressed her hands together. "I knew you would help me! This is going to be the best opera the world has ever known!"

"But you must realize that it could very well take years to complete the orchestrations and lyrics, as well as the music." Erik's face had become quite serious, and Angelique nodded. "Under no circumstances will I rush through any part of this opera simply to appease you."

"I'm glad," she said, nodding again. "I want this opera to be perfect." A huge smile covered her face as she got up from the bench, taking _Don Juan_ with her. "Now I must try to get some sleep before I got to work. But thank you, Erik. This is the most wonderful thing anyone has ever done for me."

"Good night, Angelique." Smiling, Erik turned back to his organ. Women and their passing fancies were something he would never be able to fathom.

* * *

The next day, Erik discovered that the opera idea was more than a simple passing fancy. When Angelique returned from work, she walked into the study carrying two full reams of good quality manuscript paper. Setting them before Erik, she grinned.

"We may need more eventually, but for now I think this will do." Incredulous, Erik took out a sheet of the paper. "It's good paper," she assured him, sitting down in the chair beside him. "I asked for the very best kind they had."

"I have no doubt about that," Erik said, looking over at her. "But this must have been terribly expensive." Under his interrogating gaze, Angelique shrugged.

"Today I got my wages," she said, holding a piece of the heavy paper in her hands. "Besides, what else would I have spent it on?"

"A new dress or possibly some books…I know for a fact that you haven't had a new book in almost a month. Instead you go and spend an extravagant amount of money on…" The smile she had walked in with was rapidly diminishing, and Erik stopped his tirade for a moment as he reached over to pat her hand. "Forgive me, Angelique. This paper will be perfect."

"Can we start work on the opera tonight?" Somehow her bright smile had returned, and Erik nodded.

"Above all else, you must think of a premise. We can't begin on the music unless we have an idea of the story." A look of dismay crossed Angelique's mind, and she got up from her seat.

"I'm terrible at this…" Walking over to the bookshelf, she scanned the spines of the leather-bound volumes. "Perhaps something based upon an old story? Or do you suppose an original idea is best?"

"This is to be your opera. Whatever you wish the theme to be, I shall do everything that I can to make it everything you hope it to be." 

"No," Angelique said, going back over to the chair where he was sitting. "This is to be our opera." Much to Erik's surprise, she leaned over and put her arms around him. "You are the most wonderful man I have ever known." Her body was soft, and a surge of warmth rushed over Erik as it pressed against his. Resisting a sudden, inexplicable urge to push her away, he gently patted her back.

"Come, let us have our dinner. You may be able to think a little clearer after you eat a bit." Standing up, he offered her his arm to lead her to the dining room. Angelique took it at once, and followed him.

"You certainly do feed me well," she commented as he pulled the chair out for her. "If this keeps up, I may not be able to fit my dresses."

"And if that should happen, then I will buy you a closet full of new dresses. For a while, you were beginning to look as thin as a rail." Sitting across from her, Erik watched her eat slowly.

"Why do you not eat?" This same topic was becoming a source of annoyance for both Erik and Angelique, and the man sighed.

"Must we really begin every night with this argument?"

"I don't wish to argue, Erik. I simply feel wrong about eating before you when you haven't taken a single bite." Though she wanted to say more, Angelique quickly put a bit of food into her mouth before any words could escape. It had been a long day at the shop, and she didn't feel like setting off Erik's temper again. 

"You return so late each evening, and I have already eaten by that time. I'm sorry if it disturbs you." At least now, he didn't seem angry. This was a small amount of comfort for Angelique, and she ate quickly.

Once she had placed her fork alongside the dish, Erik stood up and took away the plate. While he was gone, she sipped the last of the wine in her glass. Back in the study, she had no idea why she had hugged him. Over the time she had been in his house, Angelique had realized to a bit of dismay, that the spark of a feeling she thought she had felt for him was quickly becoming a flame, threatening to consume her every time she got close to Erik. She worried that she was developing an unhealthy fixation on him, but didn't want him to think that she was any queerer than she was certain he already thought she was. The time he had caught her walking around in the middle of the night touching all the bric-a-brac had been most embarrassing, but for some reason she had felt that it was necessary. Still, she couldn't help worrying that now Erik would think she was a raving lunatic. 

"Have you thought of a plot?" While she was thinking, he had come back into the room and was standing over her shoulder. Angelique jumped, then wondered just how long he had been behind her. Figuring he was already adding impolite to his list of ways to describe her, she shook her head.

"No," Trying not to sound too despondent, Angelique sighed. "How can I write a decent piece of music if I can't even think of a name?" 

"I'm sure something will come to you soon. Shall we return to the study?" Extending a hand to Angelique, Erik waited for her to slip her small hand into his so that he could help her up. For some reason, Christine had never wanted him to touch her, even on her hands, and yet Angelique always seemed so eager to take his hand. This time was no different and as they walked up the stairs, her arm tucked comfortably in his, she seemed to walk a little closer to him.

"Do you have any thoughts about a plot?" They walked into the study, and she resumed her place by the bookshelf. Angelique wasn't sure what she was searching for, but she seemed intent on finding it.

"Are you certain that you would not rather select a plot yourself? After all, this is your opera." This caused Angelique to turn rather suddenly to look at him.

"As I said last night, this is our opera. I don't expect you to just write lyrics, this is every bit your work as it is mine." Reaching over to the wine decanter, she found that it was empty. "Good heavens, do we really drink this much?"

"I was unaware that it was empty…" Erik started to get up from his chair, upon which Angelique hurried over and gently put her hand on his shoulder, settling him firmly in the chair.

"Don't trouble yourself, I'll get it!" Beaming, she exited the study, then put her head back in the door. "Think about the plot while I'm gone!" Once he could hear her footsteps going down the hallway, Erik sat back. He wasn't completely sure what had just happened. There was a small thump from downstairs, and he resisted the urge to get up and go check on her. A few minutes later, Angelique returned with a full bottle of wine. She was grinning a little too widely, and Erik gave her an odd look.

"I heard a sound down there…"

"You'll be glad to know I saved the wine." That was all the explanation she gave, but Erik noticed she was favoring her right leg a little. "Have you thought of any ideas about the opera?" As she spoke, she poured him a glass of wine and brought it over to where he sat, trying not to limp. Handing him the glass, their fingers brushed against one another, a slightly more familiar gesture than when he took her hand to help her up from a chair. Their eyes met for a split second, conveying an emotion that neither of them seemed quite comfortable with. Angelique blushed, then moved over to her own chair.

"None whatsoever," Erik managed as she sat down. Angelique looked confused as she tried to regain her composure.

"None what?"

"Thoughts on the opera." The simple contact between the two had completely thrown them off balance, and Angelique nodded.

"Oh, yes. The opera." Now she seemed more at ease, and gazed dreamily over at the thread work on one of the tapestries on the wall. The blush still hadn't quite left her cheeks, and she was so lost in thought for a moment that she didn't realize that Erik was looking at her. "It has to be perfect. Music is the most intimate thing one person can give to another. It's like you're giving them a bit of the deepest part of your soul, something that no one else can give or take away. Most people don't understand that. They think music is just a series of meaningless notes meant to make up a melody, but only a true composer knows the real power music can have." With every word she spoke, Erik became more and more lost in her voice. Still smiling, she looked over at him. "I know you understand, Erik. You may be the only one in this godforsaken city who does."

"A man…who falls in love with a woman that he can't possibly have." Before he even realized what he was saying, the words had already left Erik's lips. For a moment he was horrified. What had he just done? His eyes were fixed on the bookshelf, and Angelique stood up. Following his gaze, she picked out a book from the rows of volumes.

"Hunchback of Notre Dame…is this what you meant?" Beneath her smile, Angelique's heart was thundering. She was silently hoping that he hadn't meant the book, that he was somehow feeling the same way she was. Relieved, Erik nodded.

"Yes. I think it would make a wonderful opera. With a story of that depth, there are many opportunities for music to…" Erik went on for a while, but Angelique had stopped listening after 'opera.' After a while, he noticed she wasn't listening. "Do you agree with that?"

"Yes, all of it." Somehow, she managed to put on a brilliant smile before picking up the book and sitting down next to Erik. "It's a wonderful idea. I only wish…" Turning the page, she sighed softly. There was no way she could say what she was really thinking. "I wish I had thought of it."

For the rest of the night, the only sound in the room was that of pages turning. 

* * *

Thanks to the fact that Angelique and Erik were both fast readers, the plot outline was finished within the week. Unfortunately, the relationship between them was becoming ever more strained as the days went on. 

Almost a month later, the first scene of _Notre Dame de Paris _was finished. Erik was surprised at their progress, but Angelique was always completely hell-bent on her music. She would return from work with packages which would have long strings of notes written on their outsides, admitting that she had bought a new pair of shoes or a scarf just to have the package so she could write down the piece before she forgot it. Once she even pitched the most dreadful fit when Erik had mistakenly thrown out a piece of butcher's paper with the mezzo-soprano's introduction on it. Following that little episode, she had turned the house upside down looking for a dress pattern on which was written the beginning of a little fugue.

This behavior was starting to get tiresome, and Angelique was starting to look as thin as when he had first met her. Resolving to try and make this opera work, Erik had asked her to look over the lyrics to the first scene but had not allowed her to disappear into her room as she usually did when he gave her something to review. Instead, he requested that she sit with him before the organ. She had been most responsive to the idea, and for a while he actually thought it would work out.

"Next we have…" Erik wrote the first six notes down on the page before turning to Angelique. She was busy eating an apple while reviewing the first scene. "What did you have in mind after this sequence?" In response, Angelique hummed a few notes through her mouthful of apple.

"Like that," she said absently. 

"Ah. Ending on a major third. How ingenious of you." Erik reached up to write down the notes, and Angelique looked up at him.

"Major third? No, that's a diminished fourth." 

"My dear, I beg to differ. The notes you gave me were a major third." 

"I gave you a diminished fourth, Erik, I think I know what a diminished fourth is." She was beginning to sound annoyed, and took the pen from his hand. This was unacceptable, and Erik struggled to hold back his anger. Instead, he spoke in the most condescending way he possibly could to her.

"You've only known what a diminished fourth is for two months. I think I know what I am talking about." His patronizing tone only annoyed Angelique more, and she narrowed her eyes at him.

"So I don't know what a diminished fourth is now?" Jumping up from the bench, she threw the pen onto the floor and slammed her hands onto the keys of the organ so that the first scene, ending with a loud and resounding diminished fourth, rang through the room. She looked up at Erik, her eyes sarcastic. "Was that it?" 

"How dare you treat my instrument in that way!" Erik exploded, standing up so fast that the bench was knocked backwards. Angelique didn't seem to notice, and although she had to look upward to face him, her little hands were on her hips with a defiance no one had ever shown him.

"How dare you talk to me like I am a child!" Her blue eyes were burning with rage as she looked up at him. "You are the one who taught me all of this! I may not be able to express it as well as you, but there are a few things of which I know about what I speak!" Snatching up the first scene in her hand, she held it up in the air near his face. This only served to make Erik madder. "One of which is a diminished fourth!"

"If you were to live to be a hundred, a possibility which lessens with every passing moment, you wouldn't know half of the things I know!" Caught up in yelling at Angelique, Erik didn't realize that he had just threatened her. It became apparent, however, when her little face turned the color of a ripe tomato that he had crossed the line. Incensed, Angelique flung the papers onto the floor. They scattered like leaves through the room as she looked up at the man who was at least a foot taller than she was.

"Are you threatening me?" Pressing a hand to her chest, Angelique sounded as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. Realizing too late what he had said, Erik was speechless for a moment. "If you lay so much as a hand on me, Erik, I will…" There didn't seem to be a word that could describe it, and she spun around to go. 

"Wait!" Afraid that he was going to lose her, Erik reached out to grab her arm. All he caught was her wrist, and he pulled her back to him a little rougher than he had first intended. Insulted by this, her hand flashed out to slap him across the face. The strength of her arm knocked his mask from his face, but Angelique was too busy stomping to her room to look at him.

As he put the mask back on, Erik could hear her door slam. For a moment he had been sorry, but all traces of contrition had disappeared the moment she struck him. Enraged, he thundered down the hall after her and pounded on her door.

"Angelique! Open this door at once!" There was no response, and he tried the knob. It was locked, and Erik slammed his fist against the door in frustration. "Angelique! Open this door or I shall…" The door swung open so fast he almost fell into the room, and Angelique stood before him. Her eyes were blazing with anger as she looked at him.

"Or you shall do what?" There was no instant response, so she pushed past him and walked down the hall.

"Where are you going?"

"Somewhere I don't have to look at you!" This remark, tossed over her shoulder in the iciest of tones, caused him more pain than he thought possible, and she disappeared down the stairs. Hurrying after her, Erik reached the top of the stairs just as her little figure passed through the open door. How could that damned woman move so fast?

"Angelique! Don't you dare walk out on me! Angelique!" The slam of the door was the only response he got, and he ran down the stairs after her. By the time he got to the door, she was gone. 

* * *

While Angelique wasn't watching, spring had overthrown Paris like Napoleon on holiday. Tiny buds had blossomed into flowers in every possible color of the rainbow, and she stopped to smell one of them as she walked. Everywhere Angelique looked, it seemed like another pair of lovers was walking down the long street, hand in hand. It was making her ill. It was already nearly noon, and it dawned on her that she hadn't slept at all in the last two days. Still, she walked, not sure where she wanted to go. 

She passed Mme Lafours' shop without a backward glance, and continued walking. The last thing she wanted to deal with at the moment was her employer telling her that she looked like Death himself, as the woman had taken to doing as of late. Through some act of instinct, she had ended up standing before the bakery. Above the bakery was her apartment, and in the apartment was…what? A few dresses and maybe a book or two? She couldn't remember. Since she had started visiting Erik, she had almost completely stopped going to her apartment. But she still paid the rent, for reasons she herself couldn't even explain. Wearily, she made her way up the stairs and unlocked the door, wondering what she would find.

Standing in the doorway of her tiny apartment, Angelique sighed. Nothing. Just as she thought. Before she had started going to see Erik, her life had been filled with nothing. Being with Erik had made her so happy, but now…everything felt so different. Everything was confused in her mind, and she went into the apartment. It was midday, and the sun was streaming through the broken window like spun gold. She went slowly to the table where the dried up rose was still lying. It had faded to a sad, grayish red, and she touched it gently. Just the tap of her finger made a petal fall onto the ground, and it lay there looking lost.

Turning to the mirror, Angelique let out a tiny scream of surprise as an apparition appeared before her. When she got over her initial shock, Angelique moved closer to the mirror. Much to her dismay, she realized that the ghost was her. Long nights of writing on the opera combined with her days working at the shop were obviously not agreeing with her, and her fingers moved up to touch the dark circles beneath her eye. Her face was pale, which only served to make the shadows below her eyes look even darker.

As she looked in wonder at the face that appeared before her, she suddenly realized that she couldn't continue like this. If she insisted on living these two lives, she was going to die before she turned 25. Placing a hand on her mirror, Angelique bowed her head. She knew what she had to do.

* * *

Erik sat at the organ, having already rearranged the pages of music they had finished. Now, as he sat picking through the notes of Notre Dame de Paris Act One, Scene One, he wondered if she was ever coming back. It seemed like hours since she had left, and it was just then that he had been able to sit before the organ again. He really hadn't intended to threaten her, but he had been angry and it had come out the wrong way. His cheek still stung from where she had slapped him, although he supposed he deserved it. Erik wished he could apologize to her, maybe not for the music, but for everything else. 

With a sigh, he played the last notes of the scene slowly. It sounded odd, and he switched a few notes around before playing it again. This time as he played the notes, he realized it. A cry of mixed anger and despair escaped his lips as he swept the music off the stand and onto the floor.

It was a diminished fourth. Bitterly, he looked at the pages that lay scattered on the floor. After all these years, he had failed to make the distinction between the sounds at the worst possible time. Closing his eyes, Erik dropped his head. Maybe it was better that she had left. 

There was a sound downstairs, like something falling. Erik's head snapped up quickly, and he jumped up from the bench. Somehow avoiding the scattering of pages that lay on the floor, he hurried down the stairs to find Angelique standing in the doorway a worried look on her face.

"Erik, are you alright? I heard you cry out…" Just the sound of her voice in his house made him immeasurably happy, and he stood at the foot of the stairs, looking at her as if he couldn't believe she was actually there. "Is something wrong?" Going to him, Angelique gently pressed a hand to his cheek, almost the only exposed part of his face. "Are you feeling well?"

"Angelique…" His voice was trembling as he reached up to take her hands, which only made her more concerned. "Please forgive me. You were right about the fourth…I never meant to threaten you. You know I would never hurt you."

"Of course I know that." The worry on her face melted into a smile, and her eyes softened. "But you had every right to be mad. Everything was my fault."

"No!" The tone of his voice suggested that she had suggested the ultimate blasphemy. "I should not have overreacted. You were tired, I shouldn't have been so thoughtless…" Shaking his head, Erik lifted her little hands up to kiss them. However, he stopped just short of his lips and hesitated a moment before actually proceeding with the gesture. "Can you forgive me?"

"You shouldn't even have to ask," she said softly. "Now, will you please help me outside? I believe I'm not quite strong enough."

"To do what?" Puzzled, Erik followed her out to the front of the house where a small trunk was sitting halfway on the bottom stair. "What's this?"

"Just my dresses and a few books and things." Going over to the trunk, she pulled at it. "I think it may be stuck on something."

"But why is it here?" Joining her by the trunk, Erik picked it up easily and carried it into the house. Angelique followed behind him, awed by his strength. It had taken two men to help her carry it to the Rue Scribe, not to mention the awful time she had getting it into and out of the boat. Erik set the chest in her room, and turned to her expectantly. For a moment, Angelique forgot what he had asked her.

"I quit my job at the seamstress, so I decided to move all my things down here." Although she seemed pleased, a strange look crossed Erik's face.

"What did you go and do a thing like that for?" His voice was unreadable, and she couldn't tell if he was irritated or pleased with her. 

"There was no reason for me to live there when I spend all my time down here, and you won't let me pay for anything anyway. Really, Erik, I thought you would be happy about it!" Hands on hips, she communicated her frustration with him before she even spoke, and Erik laughed.

"Of course I am. You haven't been looking very healthy as of late." Motioning her towards the door, he shook his head. "Come, there's something I wish to show you."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were worried about me." Angelique looked up at him with a smile as she slipped her arm into his. "Where are we going?"

"Just to the study." They passed Erik's room, the door of which was still standing open. Angelique noticed the pages of music on the floor with a sigh.

"I'm sorry I threw the music on the floor," she said softly. "You must think I'm a spoiled little brat."

"Actually, it was I who did that." Not bothering to go into detail about his actions, Erik brought Angelique into the study and sat her down. Moving over to the bookshelf, he removed a single volume and opened the cover. "I didn't remember this until just a few minutes ago." Inside the cover was a piece of paper, which Erik handed to her.

"What is it?" Unfolding the paper, Angelique found it to be a short melody scribbled in a child's handwriting. Looking at it for a moment, she realized just what it was. "The music box song!"

"You wrote that when you were quite small. I seem to recall you watching me write some music, and you begged me for a sheet of paper so you could write something." Smiling, Erik set the book on the table between them. "It wasn't until after I took you to your parents that I found it stuck in with my pages of music. I thought you might like to have it."

"Thank you!" Laughing, she pressed the paper to her chest. "This is wonderful!" Humming the melody softly, she ran her fingers over the notes on the paper.

"I was quite surprised when I found it," Erik remarked. "Even though you were just copying the notes, the fact that you were able to discern them just from their sound is nothing short of remarkable."

"But how did I know what to write?" Her eyes traveled over the shaky lines, the slanted notes, the treble clef which looked as if it had been stepped on. "This hardly even looks like music."

"You were only a year old. Just the fact that you were writing something resembling a melody is astonishing. And I always assumed that you learned by watching me." Angelique's eyes were still focused on the paper, and Erik watched her face. She was gently touching her fingertips to the paper, smiling as if she were remembering something. Her attention was so completely focused on the paper that she didn't seem to realize that her hands were shaking. Erik saw this at once. "Is something wrong?"

"Lavender," she murmured, almost too softly to hear. "Lavender. Mother always wore lavender oil." Now, as she looked up, her eyes had taken on a faraway look. "That night, I remember…when you left. Mother and Father came out, and she took me into her arms. She smelled so strongly of lavender." As she spoke, tears had begun to roll down her pale cheeks. Like a flash, Erik was at her side.

"Angelique…"

"I'm sorry," she said, trying to wipe the tears from her eyes. "I just can't forget…I really don't know what's wrong with me…" Still crying, Angelique dropped her eyes into her lap. 

"There's nothing wrong with you." Kneeling down to look into her eyes, Erik took a handkerchief from his pocket and dried the tears that were covering her face. "You're tired. Come along, I'll take you to bed." Carefully helping her out of the chair, Erik led her up the stairs to her room. Angelique leaned on him a bit more than usual, the music still clutched in her hand. 

Several times, it seemed like she wanted to say something to him as they walked. But whatever was on her mind didn't wander past her lips, and Erik helped her onto the bed. Angelique looked at the melody again, then opened the music box. 

"It's so pretty…I wish it had words." Then she was silent, and the dearth of conversation in the room quickly became uncomfortable. Erik moved to the door.

"Good night, my dear. When you wake up, we shall work on the opera some more." With that, he was gone into the darkness, shutting the door behind him. Angelique loved watching the way he moved. There was something graceful, almost stately about the way he walked, with a measure of sensuality she didn't think he was aware of. At once, she found herself blushing. Hurriedly, she took off her boots and dress. There was no way she was going to acknowledge that she had even had those thoughts. 

It felt as if she hadn't slept in weeks, and as she slipped beneath the cool sheets of her bed, she thought about her mother. Imagining herself to be in the safety of her mother's arms, she fell asleep at once. 

* * *

Sinking onto the bench before his organ, Erik looked at the empty music stand. Once again, her words came into his head. Words she had spoken over a month before, in his study, about the intimacy of music. Her reverent words struck a note in his soul; somehow they were the very embodiment of the way he had felt about music since his fingers had worked out the first tenuous notes on his mother's piano. 

That day felt as if it were so far away, and there was so much he wanted to forget about his years as a child. Yet he could still remember the pure, unadulterated happiness he had felt when the first immaculate notes had rung forth from the piano. But just as quickly as it had come, the happiness had disappeared.

When Christine had appeared before him, she had been like a gift from heaven, bringing back the sweet joy he had felt when he was lost in music. And just like the innocence of his first melody, she had been taken away by someone who couldn't possibly understand the happiness he found in her. 

Now he had a chance to regain the joy that had been stolen from him in life, over and over again. Angelique felt music the way he did. It ran through her body and enveloped her soul, drawing him closer to the light that she carried within her. Erik yearned for that light, that affection that he had been deprived of since the very day of his birth. The gentle touch of her hand, her precious laughter…these were things he never thought he could experience from a woman. He wondered if it was possible that she could be thinking of him as well.

Since Christine had left, he had been wary of letting himself become close to any woman. The last thing he wanted was to cause another person the pain he had given Christine. But Angelique had slipped through his defenses, just as she had the day he had rescued her from death just hours after her birth. The longer he stayed near her, the farther he slipped down the inescapable chasm that he knew led to total devotion to this extraordinary woman. 

But would it truly be such a tragedy to let himself fall in love again? 

* * *

With the help of some internal clock, Angelique awoke the next morning, rising slowly to the surface of consciousness as if through some viscous liquid. Opening her eyes, she half expected to see Erik beside her. Instead, there was a small glass bottle sitting next to her music box. Leaning over to pick it up, Angelique noticed her reflection in the mirror. The shadows below her eyes were beginning to fade, and some color was starting to return to her face. Smiling, she closed her fingers around the bottle and pulled it to her, puzzled.

The tiny bottle was rather ornately made, and closed with a little glass stopper. Pulling the stopper out, Angelique was greeted with the heavenly scent of her mother's perfumed embrace. Breathing a soft sigh of bliss, Angelique brought the bottle to her nose and inhaled deeply. Lavender oil. 

Dressing quickly, she dabbed a little of the scented oil onto her neck and hurried down the hall to where Erik was already awake and scribbling at the opera. Moving very quietly behind him, Angelique put her arms around his neck playfully. At once, Erik's entire body tensed up. 

"Good morning," she said softly. At the sound of her voice, Erik relaxed visibly and turned to look at her. 

"Perhaps I should say good afternoon." Smiling, he pulled away from her lavender embrace. "Can I assume that you found my present?"

"Yes, and I love it dearly. Thank you so much." A small pang of distress ached in her chest as she noticed him moving away from her, but she didn't say anything. Gingerly, she sat next to him and looked at the music. But as hard as she tried to concentrate on the music that was before her, all she could think about was the manner in which he had pushed her away. Putting the music back on the stand, Angelique stood up.

Erik looked at her as she sidled out from behind the bench. "Excuse me."

"Where are you going?"

"My room." Her chest was hurting so badly, she didn't care that she was rather short with him. Immediately, he stood up as well.

"Is something the matter? Are you hungry?" Taking a few steps toward where Angelique stood, he reached a hand out to her.

"Not particularly." Trying not to betray just how upset she was, Angelique hurried to her room and closed the door so that Erik's masked face disappeared at once. 

Sinking onto her bed, Angelique brought the music box into her arms and stared at it. Carefully, she opened the lid to set the music free. Somehow, the melody seemed so sad all of a sudden, and once again she was dismayed to find that tears were involuntarily welling up in her eyes.

How could she have been such a fool? Trying to convince herself that he cared for her…and then she had gone and made that stupidly forthright gesture this morning. Just remembering the way he had pulled away from her arms caused the aching to return to her heart again. 

All of a sudden, it felt like everything was so pointless. Quitting her job, writing the opera…it all seemed to fade into the background as she realized that everything had just been in her mind. What a fool. What a silly little fool she had become.

There was a knock on her door, and Angelique looked up. Wiping away her tears in a panic, she tried to compose herself before she spoke.

"Yes?"

"Angelique? Is something wrong?"

"I'm fine." In her mind, she was screaming at him. How could he possibly not know what was wrong? "Please, just leave me alone." Ashamed to hear that her voice was trembling, Angelique's eyes began to leak again. There was a terrible silence from the other side of the heavy door, followed by the sound of footsteps receding heavily down the hall. Angelique felt as if her heart was breaking as she heard him walking away from her, knowing he wouldn't return until she asked him to.

The silence lingered on forever, and Angelique held her breath in hopes that she would hear a sound, some music, anything. Nothing came, and once she was sure she was not going to cry again, Angelique carefully pushed open the door and crept down the hall to Erik's room.

"Erik? Are you here?" There was no answer, and she could see that he was gone. A disturbing feeling had come into her stomach, and she ran down the stairs to the front of the house. From the top of the stairs, she could see a familiar shape disappearing into the misty darkness, carried along by a small boat. "Erik!"

Nearly plunging headfirst into the darkness, she ran down the stairs and pressed her body against the bars of the gate that impassively separated her from the lake. Cursing herself for leaving the key in her room, Angelique grasped the bars so tightly that her knuckles began to turn white.

"Please, wait!" There was no answer, and as he disappeared completely into the catacombs, Angelique slammed the palm of her hand onto the gate. "Damn!" 

* * *

Crossing the lake, Erik heard her calling to him. It took all he had not to turn back and answer her, but somehow he managed it. A moment later, her shouted curse rang through the darkness, along with the sound of iron being beaten. 

The moment he pulled away from her, Erik had known she would be upset. But the way she had smelled, the way her arms had felt around him…it was almost too much. There was no way a woman like her could love him, and there was no use in trying to fool himself into thinking otherwise. No use in trying to convince a wretched creature like himself that he could ever hope to even gaze upon paradise.

He had no idea where he was going, but it had to be as far away from Angelique as possible. The sound of her crying was just too much to bear. 

* * *

Back inside the house, Angelique sat in the study staring at the books. Angry and hurt, she entertained several ideas about smashing everything in the room before sinking into a chair. It was the chair that Erik usually sat in, and she pulled her legs up so that she was curled into a ball on the seat. 

She hated crying. Her aunt had told her it was a sign of weakness, and that the reason little girls were so weak was that they cried all the time. Every time Angelique had felt like she wanted to cry, she had fought the tears so hard that it was physically painful. For years, she hadn't allowed herself to cry at all. But here, it seemed like she couldn't control the tears. 

More than anything, she wanted Erik to come back. Just the lingering scent of his clothes on the chair was enough to make it feel as if someone had torn out her heart, and she pressed a hand to the soft cushioning, the tears threatened to fall again. Angelique buried her face in the upholstery as she recalled the swiftness with which he had left the house. Was there anything more shameful than driving a man out of his own house? Much to her chagrin, she couldn't think of a single thing worse, and closed her burning eyes. If he hadn't hated her after slapping him, surely he must hate her now. 

Slowly pulling herself out of the chair, Angelique walked blindly to her room. Her chest felt so empty, her whole body was so cold…the thought of Erik hating her caused her more pain than she believed she had ever felt. He was her last friend, the only man who had ever understood her love of music, and somehow she had managed to drive him away. Blowing out the candles, Angelique wandered over to a small, plush couch in the corner of the room and slumped onto it. 

Out of the darkness, the music box started up again. Reaching a hand blindly towards the gently sound, Angelique murmured something unintelligible. A moment later, she was quiet. An eerie stillness overtook the house, broken only by the faltering notes of an elderly music box.

* * *

Few people visited Notre Dame Cathedral in the middle of the week, excepting the few aged women who were there to say rosaries and the newly pious young woman making their confessions. 

Silently, Erik sat in a corner of the empty choir loft. The rays of the sunset filtered languidly through the sacred images cast in stained glass, sending kaleidoscopic visions of color across the pews. He rarely, if ever, visited the Cathedral. There were too many righteous people coming and going, people who wouldn't hesitate to lavish cruelty on him simply because he was there.

Lost in thought, he gazed up at the much-adored rose window. Many believed that the brilliant blue of the glass had been lost with the abbots who had created it, that the color held some magical power. Erik didn't doubt their opinions for a moment, as the same blazing hue that captivated hundreds of people had the power to paralyze him when it was in Angelique's eyes. He, the man who had once been rumored to waltz with Satan and ride dragons for sport! 

The very thought was ridiculous, and he turned away from the glass. Compared to him, she was a child. He couldn't imagine her feeling anything more for him than a distant, filial affection, and this sent Erik into agonies every time he thought about it. 

Trying to take his mind off these disturbing thoughts, Erik looked around the sanctum. Perhaps he could get some ideas for the opera. The priests were wandering about below like reverent crows, silently offering their counsel to those in need. A young woman emerged from the confessional while an older woman lit a slender candle and kissed the feet of the Blessed Virgin.

To Erik, who hadn't believed in a god since he was a child, it all looked like nothing more than a series of fruitless ritual. And the futility of it all brought his thoughts back to Angelique. It was as equally useless to try not to think about her, and he leaned his head back to look into the rafters of the church.

Many years previous, he had sketched a domed cathedral which had looked a bit like this. Erik wondered absently if he had the capacity to sketch a person, a figure which consisted of more than just lines and angles. He couldn't remember ever doing such a thing before, even when he was a child. 

For some reason, the pews below had begun to fill up. With each person that arrived, Erik felt more and more uncomfortable until he realized that the choir would soon be filing into the loft. Moving like a shadow into a narrow stairwell that was hidden from view, Erik disappeared into the walls of Notre Dame.

Outside, the city had sunk into night. From within the cathedral, a chorus of voices arose in a prayer that could just as easily been gibberish to Erik's ears. But somewhere within the garble of orisons, a single, pure note resonated. His eyes alight with sudden inspiration, Erik hurried to the Rue Scribe.

The journey back across the lake seemed shorter somehow, but he went up the stairs much more slowly than necessary. Her closed door told him at once that she was still unhappy with him, but there was nothing he could do about it. There was a desperate need within him to check on her, to make sure she was okay, and he took off his cloak before opening her door.

"Angelique?" Her room was pitch dark, at which Erik frowned. She usually liked to have at least a little candle burning, and he moved over to light one of the slender candles by the door. The realization that she wasn't in her bed was unsettling, and Erik picked up the light to look around.

The soft light of the candle fell onto her small frame, draped over the couch as if she had fainted. Stifling a cry, Erik knelt beside her and looked into her face. It was puffy, as if she'd been crying, and a look of distress was on her brow. Afraid that he was the one who had put this expression on her beloved countenance, Erik reached over to gently smooth down her hair. 

Setting the candle onto the floor, Erik slipped his arms beneath her body and picked her up. A tiny smile crossed her lips as his arms enfolded her, and a happy sound escaped from her throat. Angelique looked so happy, he didn't want to put her down. Ever so gently, Erik deposited her onto the bed and sat beside her. Carefully removing her boots, he dropped them on the floor. The sound of the shoe dropping caused Angelique to wake with a start, and it took a moment before her eyes focused on the man who was sitting beside her.

"Erik!" At once, her eyes lit up. "Oh, I'm so glad you're back! I…" Instinctively, she moved to hug him but stopped short. Turning her eyes down to her lap, she smiled sadly. "I'm sorry about this morning. Really, I shouldn't have…" Shaking her head, Angelique fought back another wave of tears. "I can't imagine what you must think of me. Throwing music around, driving you out of your house. I wouldn't be surprised if you wanted me to leave right now."

"No, this was my fault. I didn't mean to upset you so…" The words caught in his throat, causing Angelique to move a bit closer to him. Cautiously placing a hand on his arm, she was pleased that Erik didn't pull away. Instead, he reached up to gently caress her cheek. Neither of them spoke, but their eyes met in the dim light that the candle afforded them. Heart pounding, Angelique bit her lip. She wanted to ask him so many things, to find out why he had left. But instead, she simply smiled gently at him.

"Where did you go?" The words had no sooner left her mouth as Erik began to relate to her all the ideas he had gotten from being in the cathedral. 

"…And perhaps we could use the chorus girls as some sort of congregation. What do you think?"

"Tell me more," Angelique smiled up at him moving a bit closer to him. At that moment, all she wanted was to hear his voice. Without even knowing that he was doing so, Erik obliged.

Her hand was like a trembling butterfly on his arm, unsure if she should leave it there or take it away. Pausing for a moment, Erik reached over to lightly place his hand on hers. Angelique's cheeks turned bright pink in the candlelight, and their eyes spoke silently to one another as they spent an instant simply enjoying one another's touch.

It may not have been paradise, but at that moment it was enough.


	6. Accidental Affection

Accidental Affection

In the chair nearest to the bookshelf, Angelique was mumbling to herself about arrangements while Erik went through the lyrical changes of the latest song. It was an oddly comfortable feeling, being in the same room but feeling as if they were worlds apart. Every so often one would look up, stealing a quick glance at the other before turning back to their work.

For months, this same thing had been going on. Day in and day out, they would work on their respective pieces of the opera, stopping only long enough to ask one another's advice. Neither of them minded very much, the lack of discussion spared them the awkwardness of saying too much.

Although he assured her that he was working diligently on the lyrics, Erik had as of late taken to working on a sketch of Angelique. There was something about the intensity with which she worked on the music of the opera that he felt he had to capture. 

Suddenly, she looked up at him. Forgetting her music altogether, she dropped the pen onto the small table that was between the chairs.

"I'm going up," she said, standing up and stretching her arms. Shuffling papers quickly, Erik tucked the sketch of her under the lyric sheets. "I am out of ink." 

"There's plenty of ink. I'll…" Before he could stand up, Angelique shook her head. Her beautiful eyes bored into his.

"I am out of ink."

"Very well, my dear. And while you're up there, could I trouble you to pick up some tea? We have only three bags left." He stood up to see Angelique to the door, and they walked out to the boat.

"Of course. Darjeeling Light Blend." Settling into the bow of the small craft, Angelique reached up to take Erik's hand before he pushed the boat away from the dock. "I shall return soon. I haven't forgotten what day it is." The boat drifted away into the darkness, and Erik looked after her.

He had almost forgotten the day himself. Once she returned, he would have to go to the Opera Populaire to discuss his salary with the managers. Last month, he had finally decided that it was time for the gradual reduction of his salary to end, and today was payday. Erik wanted to give Angelique the best of everything, but it wouldn't be possible if his salary continued to decrease with such rapidity.

Once she was out of his sight, Erik leaned against the gate. He had no doubt that she needed a break. For months, all she had been doing was writing music, playing music, thinking music. Already, they were on the last scenes of Act One. True, they weren't concerning themselves with orchestrations until the choral and piano parts were through, but he had never known any composer to create such beautiful melodies in such a short length of time. 

Since both parties involved in the creation of this opera were nothing short of obsessed with making everything about it perfect, there was none of the usual fawning and prancing around one another's mistakes that often came with the territory of two friends co-authoring a piece. 

Not just friends, Erik thought miserably as he walked up the stairs to the study. A man hopelessly infatuated with a woman young enough to be his daughter twice over. 

Picking up the sketch of Angelique from the table in the study, he examined it carefully before taking it to his room. There was no need to romanticize her image, she was already beautiful enough. But as he placed it in the leather jacket with the other sketches, he wondered why he had suddenly taken to sketching portraits.

Even with Christine, he hadn't thought to draw a picture of her. Erik had never really been interested in depicting the human form, static castles and monuments were much more his style. The sweeping arch of a building or even a cathedral held significantly more meaning to him than any person, for there wasn't a bridge built that would judge him the way people did. What picture could he have possibly drawn of Christine? Her fear of him? The sadness that always seemed to be in her eyes when she was with him? 

With Angelique, there was intensity, fury, even tenderness in the movements he captured while they sat together in the study or worked on the music. She was a woman like no other, and these were the images he wanted to depict…in case she ever left.

It was a thought he didn't like to entertain, but an altogether possible one. Once the opera was finished, what was to stop her from leaving? Of course she said she wanted to remain with him, but how long could a woman like her want to stay hidden away in a crypt like this? Closing the jacket, Erik sat down at his organ. 

Beginning a loud, frantic piece of music, he tried to shove these thoughts as far out of his mind as possible. Perhaps if he didn't think about them, they would go away.

* * *

Above, it was summer in Paris. Angelique had forgotten this most important fact, and it had only taken her a few minutes to become hot and sticky beyond all belief. The price of acting like a lady was high, and she wondered how the other women walking along the Champs Elysses managed to look so fresh and cool.

She had already picked up the ink and tea, but for some reason she had wanted to walk around in the fresh air for a while. As stiflingly hot as it was, the city was still beautiful in summer, and for the first time in what seemed like an eternity she was glad to simply be alive.

From the park, Angelique could hear strange music playing. Wondrously foreign melodies touched her ears, and she hurried in their direction. Coming around the corner, she was amused to see that a small band of Gypsies had set down. Remembering what her mother had said about Gypsies, Angelique made sure that her purse was secure before taking a few steps closer to them.

It was like stepping into a different country the moment she walked into the carnival. Jugglers and magicians were everywhere, and she didn't know where to look next. Beneath a tree, several girls dressed in gaudy Gypsy skirts were dancing to the tune of fiddles, and Angelique went closer to them. They looked enviably comfortable in their thin cotton clothes, making her wish for her own simple dress. Looking nice for Erik was more trouble than it was worth, especially when she didn't think it made a shred of difference to him whether or not she went around in her underclothes.

Sitting down onto a patch of grass, Angelique tried to lose herself in the graceful, fluid movements of the dancers. Their fluttering scarves, along with the speed and precision of the traditional dances entranced her easily, and for a while she managed to forget her cares. Once they had finished, she clapped noisily for them before placing a good sum of money into their collection basket. While the youngest two girls argued over who would get the largest share of the money, Angelique wandered over to the magician's tent. 

When she finally came out and got a look at the sun, she realized just how long she had been at the carnival and gasped softly. She had completely forgotten about Erik's appointment, and she hurried towards the Rue Scribe.

Just before she left the park, however, her eyes fell onto a crumpled old woman sitting beneath a tree. The woman was working silently at mending the hem of a dress, and Angelique noticed the pile of clothes that surrounded her.

"Excuse me, Madame, but are any of these clothes for sale?" Angelique knelt beside the woman, who didn't even look up at her.

"No."

"That's a pity. I was quite prepared to give you quite a good sum of money for a dress." Angelique reached out to touch one of the dresses, and the old woman finally looked up at her.

"How much?"

"Name your price." For some reason, Angelique was entranced by these colorful scraps of clothing. The women wearing them looked as if they were so free, as if nothing could ever bother them. The crone named her price, and Angelique paid it with a dubious look. At once, the old woman became the epitome of kindness.

"Here, my girl, this color would look best on you. And you must have a scarf as well in case it gets cold at night." The woman handed her a bundle of folded clothes, and Angelique smiled. Now the woman was looking at her strangely, as if she were trying to decide something. 

"Merci beaucoup," Angelique stood up slowly, and started out of the park towards the Rue Scribe. Before long, the sun would be going down and Erik would need to be on his way. As the young woman ran down the street, the Gypsy woman murmured something just below the edge of hearing.

"_Poshratt_," she murmured softly, shaking her head as she went back to mending the clothes that lay beside her.

* * *

"Good luck!" Standing at the edge of the dock, Angelique waved to Erik as he set off to speak with the managers. She had returned just in time for him to get into the boat and hurry off to the opera house. 

Putting the tea in the kitchen, Angelique went upstairs to put away the ink and her new dress as well. Gently pushing open the door to Erik's room, she went inside to set the ink on his shelf. As she placed the fresh pot of red ink onto the shelf, she noticed a leather folder sitting on the edge of the organ.

For a moment, she wondered just what was in the folder. Surely Erik wouldn't know if she took just a little peek… Angelique turned away from the folder abruptly and hurried out of the room. She couldn't believe what she had almost done. If it had been any other person, she would have looked without hesitation. But Erik trusted her, and if she was to betray that…he might truly start to regret allowing her to live there.

Slowly, Angelique went into her room and hung up the dress she had bought. It was a beautiful thing, blue and green with ornately patterned trim. The scarf was green, and it matched the dress nicely. Resisting the urge to wear it right away, she closed the closet door with a smile. This would make a nice surprise for a special occasion. 

Returning to the study, she started work on the opera again. The haunting Gypsy melodies were fueling new thoughts, and she immediately began trying to replicate one of the tunes she had just heard. After all, Esmeralda was a Gypsy…this would be a perfect opportunity to work in the ballet dancers. If, of course, the managers could see to it that they worked a bit on their steps.

Now that she thought about the managers, Angelique wondered how Erik was faring with them. No doubt he would get his original salary back, but he always seemed to return from dealing with them in such a bad mood. An idea popped into her head, and she smiled happily. At first it seemed like a silly thing, but the more she thought about it the more she was determined to make it work. 

Setting the pen down, Angelique ran downstairs. If this didn't make him happy, nothing would.

* * *

Irritated from arguing with the managers, Erik stalked from one shadow to another towards the jeweler's shop. When he was mad at one person, the rest of the world felt his anger as well. While he had reassured Angelique earlier that she wasn't that late, now he was sufficiently annoyed to partially blame her for the argument. After all, she had made him late. 

The darkness that had enshrouded Paris was deep, and he was able to easily avoid the stares of the citizens by keeping to the alleyways and shadows where he knew they wouldn't think to look.

It wasn't long before he was at the back door of the jeweler's. It took him just a few seconds to pop open the ridiculously uncomplicated lock, and he went into the shop to look around. This was much easier than the way most people shopped, with an annoying salesperson looking over their shoulders.

Once he had selected the watch, Erik placed some money on the counter and left. Jamming it into his pocket, he fumed down the street towards the Rue Scribe. Maybe this would help her figure out how to be home on time. As soon as he reached the entrance to the Rue Scribe, he realized with some exasperation that he had left the boat at the little dock in the Opera House's Fifth Cellar.

Cursing to himself, Erik made his way back to the Opera Populaire. It was halfway across town from the point he was at, and the anger with the general state of things that day was like a thick cloud hanging over his mind.

As he turned the corner, another shadow moved. Unexpectedly, a man stepped out of the shadows to block Erik's path. With a sigh, Erik made a detour to the right. Undaunted, the man moved to the right.

"Looks like I'm in luck tonight," the man said with a smirk. "Just come from the opera, have we?" The thief moved a little closer to the man he had taken to be a wealthy patron coming from a night at the opera. "It would probably be best if you handed over your cash now."

"Out of my way." Not in the mood to play games, Erik pushed his way past the man. From behind him, there was a soft crack. Reacting before he thought, Erik's hand shot back to snatch the piece of pipe in midair, just before it hit the back of his neck. Wrenching the weapon from the man's hand, it was then Erik's turn to smirk. Not bad reflexes for an old man, he thought to himself as he proceeded to grab the would-be assailant by the front of his shirt and throw him into the wall. 

"Wh-who the hell are you?" It was more an expression of disbelief than a question, which Erik chose not to respond to as he continued on his way to the entrance to the Opera Populaire. Outraged, the thief jumped up from his place on the ground and ran at Erik's back. 

"You insult me, Monsieur." Whirling around, Erik easily ducked the man's punch and retaliated with one of his own that knocked the man backwards. At once the thief knew that he hadn't attacked a normal man. He had thought Erik would be an easy mark, a wealthy older man who just happened to come down the wrong alley after leaving the theatre, but now he saw his error. This man was amazingly strong, and actually seemed to want to fight with him. A dark figure loomed into the man's line of view. "You fight poorly, Monsieur. It's a wonder you make any money at all." With a laugh, he turned his back on the man.

A moment later, there was a searing pain in Erik's shoulder. With a roar of surprise he turned on the man, who was standing just behind him with a knife in his hand. Everything after that was a blur. A red haze had covered his vision, and all he could feel was a burning rage that propelled him onward until he could feel his hands tightening around the man's neck. Snarling like a wounded animal, Erik threw the body into the wall as if it were nothing more than a pillow. The man tried to scramble away, but the Punjab lasso shot out and made him little more than an unpleasant memory before he could get too far. 

Moments after the lifeless body fell to the dirty pavement, Erik's head finally cleared. The madness which had seized him only an instant beforehand was fading, to be replaced with a pain that cut him to the bone. It felt as if all the heat in his body was ebbing out through his shoulder, and Erik knew at once he was cut. It hadn't registered earlier that he was wounded, he had been too angry.

While he was fighting with the man, a great deal of his blood had spilled out onto the ground, soaking his shirt in the process. It wasn't so much the sight of his blood, bright on the pavement, that made him ill…he had seen blood before. No, something else was at work here, and he felt an overwhelming need to get back to Angelique.

Trying his best to walk straight, Erik hid his wounded arm beneath his cloak as he made his way to the Opera Populaire, not noticing that he was leaving a small trail of blood behind him as he walked. 

By the time he made it to the Fifth Cellar, his breathing had become so ragged that he had to lean on the walls for support. The coolness of the stone beneath his skin was inviting, and for a moment he thought of how nice it would be to sink down upon the stone and close his eyes. But a picture of Angelique lingered just behind his eyes, and he forced himself ever downward to the boat.

When he finally made it across the lake to his house, Erik opened the door with his left hand in order to avoid the burning pain on his right side. The door swung open with a soft creak of hinge, and Angelique appeared at the top of the stairs with a smile. Although he was in great pain, Erik couldn't help but return the smile when he saw her. It was a great relief to see her face, and he moved toward her. There was some sort of white powder in her hair as well as on her cheeks, and her fingers were spotted with red ink.

"Erik! You're finally back!" She hurried down the stairs to meet him, and Erik looked at her. "Do you wish to hear the good news or the bad first?"

"Do either of them explain what's in your hair?" Now he was having a bit of trouble breathing, and he hoped that Angelique wouldn't notice. She blushed a little in the dimness of the house, and ran a hand through her hair to eliminate the flour as she began to follow Erik up the stairs.

"Well, I finished the big finish at the end of the third scene a bit ago. You're probably going to want to look over it tonight to see what kind of lyrics will go best with the tenor's solo." As she spoke, Erik noticed a strange smell.

"Does the bad news have something to do with the fact that my house is burning?" It was taking a great effort to make this small quip, and Angelique self-consciously cleared her throat.

"I was…um, writing the music while I was cooking and I got so involved with the music that I forgot about the dinner. The crepes were officially dead twenty minutes ago." Her remark earned her an odd look, and Angelique smiled sheepishly. "For some reason, the edges of them turned out fine. But somehow the bottoms came out black and the middles are soggy."

"You were making dinner?" Somehow, his voice sounded as if it were coming from someone else's mouth. They reached Erik's room, and Angelique nodded as he looked at her. "Why in blazes were you doing a thing like that?"

"Oh, I don't know…I just felt like doing something useful around here." Shrugging a little, she nodded towards the stairs. "Perhaps I'd better go down and see if I can make some better crepes. Maybe I can save something." 

"If I've told you once, I must have told you a hundred times that food really doesn't interest me, my dear." At that moment, he was wishing that she would just go downstairs so he could check his shoulder without her watching. Erik could feel a thin rivulet of blood run down his arm under his shirt, and it lingered for a moment on the tip of his finger before dripping onto the floor. In the low light, Angelique didn't notice.

"Still, I think I'll try." Looking determined, she turned around and went towards the stairs. Relieved, Erik went into his room and pulled off his cloak. There was a bright red patch of wetness traveling down his arm from the shoulder, and even then it was rapidly growing as he watched. 

"Damn," he growled, keeping his voice low. The last thing he needed was for Angelique to see this mess. Under no circumstances did he want her to know how careless he had been.

"Would you rather I tried to make something…" Too late he heard her voice behind him as she stood in the doorway of his room, then heard the soft gasp as her voice trailed off. "Oh, Erik…what's happened?"

"I am fine."

"No you aren't…you're bleeding!" Her boots made a soft tapping on the floor as she went to him and looked carefully at his shoulder, placing a hand near it gingerly. "Does it hurt much?"

"Like the devil," he murmured through clenched teeth as another bolt of pain shot through his arm. Angelique nodded, then took his left arm. 

"Come here and sit on my bed, there's more light in here." Firmly, she pulled him into her bedroom and motioned for him to sit down. Erik was surprised by how calm she was being, and she danced around him a little. "You…you don't mind if I take this side of your shirt off, do you?" Now she looked a little uncomfortable, and Erik nodded.

"Go right ahead." Erik watched her with a sort of detached interest as she slowly unfastened the buttons of his crisp white shirt, revealing a shoulder painted red with blood. Dipping the corner of one of her handkerchiefs in the washbasin, she carefully set about cleaning the blood away from the cut. Although the water stung his wound a bit, Erik didn't protest. Angelique's touch was as gentle as if she were caring for a child, and she looked up at him.

"It doesn't look too serious, thank goodness. I know you must have something around here to put on this, where should I look?" She listened closely to Erik's directions, then nodded. "Very well, I shall be right back." Standing up, Angelique reached over to press one cool hand to his uncovered cheek. "Don't even think about moving." After she disappeared from the room, the memory of her gentle touch lingered on his skin. She returned a moment later with some bottles in her hands and a fresh shirt draped over her arm. The pleasant smile was still on her face, and Erik wondered what it was taking for her to be able to do this without feeling ill. "First, I want you to have a drink of this. It's the one you gave me when I was in pain." Opening one of the bottles, Angelique poured out a capful of the sweet elixir. "This is the right one, isn't it?"

"Yes…" For a moment, Erik couldn't remember if it was the anodyne he had mixed for Angelique. But he forgot all about it when she gently pressed the cap to his lips, encouraging him to drink it. He did as she wanted him to, and Angelique smiled.

"There we go. Now, I brought you a clean shirt as well. If I can get the stain out, I believe I can fix the tear in the one you're wearing."

"This really isn't necessary, Angelique…"

"Of course it is." Her voice left no room for debate, and she picked up a washcloth to wipe away the fresh blood which had begun streaming down his arm again. "What a nuisance," she murmured as she pressed her handkerchief over the cut. "Perhaps it would be easier just to take off your shirt completely." 

"Whatever you wish." Slowly, Erik began to remove the shirt. Angelique helped him as best she could, still holding the cloth firmly on his shoulder. A small amount of blood was beginning to seep through the kerchief, and she made an annoyed sound.

"It's good that the knife didn't go all the way through your shoulder. It was a knife, wasn't it?" Carefully, she dabbed the strange smelling liquid over his cut. Some of the bleeding had finally let up, but she kept the handkerchief over it anyway. The feeling of Erik's blood on her fingers made her a little queasy, but Angelique was certain he wouldn't want a squeamish little girl around him, and she continued doctoring his wound. Glancing up at him, she was sure she saw him flinch. "Am I hurting you?"

"Not at all. And it was indeed a knife. Some imbecile took it upon himself to try and rob me, and I am afraid he caught me off-guard." Erik watched her closely as she wrapped a long strip of cloth around his shoulder. Every movement she made seemed to be infused with such caring and gentleness that he found himself on the verge of tears.

"There." Tucking the end of the bandage under, she patted his shoulder gently. "Let's get your shirt back on, okay?" Her little fingers fastened the row of buttons on his shirt again. "Now you look human again." Unexpectedly, tears had begun to flow over his face. Angelique bit her lip. "I'm sorry…does it hurt that badly?" 

"No one…has ever been so kind to me…" 

"My poor Erik. My poor, dear Erik." Leaning over him, Angelique kissed his cheek gently. His heart nearly stopped as he felt her lips against his skin. "You gave me such a fright." Angelique's voice was soft as her slender fingers brushed softly against his cheek, wiping away his tears. Erik reached up to take her hand, and she smiled. 

"Angelique…you're so gracious to me. Why?" In response, she frowned a little at him. One of her fingers moved over a chip in his white mask.

"Here, wouldn't you be more comfortable without this thing on?" Carefully, she moved as if she was going to remove the mask, and Erik pulled her hand away gently. 

"Please, Angelique, don't do this."

"I'm just thinking of your best interests. When I was a child, you didn't mind my seeing your face." Gently breaking free of his grasp, she touched the mask again. Angrily, Erik snatched her hand away a little more roughly. All thoughts of gratitude had been driven out of his mind by the instinct of self-defense that had become so finely tuned over the years.

"That was twenty years ago! Damn you, why must you do this to me? Does it really interest you so much to see the abomination of a face that I was given?" Looking back up at her, Erik was able to see that indignant tears were welling up into the polished stones of her eyes.

"Because I care about you! You're making it very hard for me, but I do!" Springing up from the edge of the bed where she was sitting, Angelique turned her back on him. A stab of guilt shot through Erik's heart, and he reached out to take her hand.

"I care about you as well. But I don't want you to look at me the way everyone else has since the day I was born." Angelique refused to turn back around, and when she spoke, her voice was shaking. 

"You know I wouldn't do that. My God, Erik, don't you know me better than that? I don't care what you look like."

"You would if you saw me," he said softly, and she turned around to face him. Erik saw that tears had begun to fall over her cheeks. "You just don't understand."

"But I want to understand." Once again her hand was on his cheek, a tiny invader breaking through his defenses. "Why won't you give me the chance?" 

"My dear, if you were ever to be afraid of me, if you ever looked at me in fear…I would die. You are the only woman who had ever dared to treat me like a person instead of an animal, and I won't allow that to change. I won't allow you to fear me and I won't have you pity me." While he spoke, his eyes were locked onto her face. Even in the candlelight, he could see the tears glistening on her face. "Please, if you never listen to me again, listen to me this time."

"Why can't you trust me?" Angelique's voice was heavy with tears, but the note of hurt that it carried was clear. "I'm not like the others." Her hand had returned to her lap, and she flexed her fingers. "Erik…when you told me that I would always be safe down here with you, I trusted you. Apparently with good reason. You've never let anything harm me. Now…all I want you to do is trust me." 

"Angelique…"

"Why don't I go check on dinner." Softly, she got up from her seat on the bed and started towards the door. Standing in the doorway she turned to him, looking as if she wanted to say something. Whatever it was didn't seem quite as important, and Angelique disappeared into the hallway.

Fighting the pain in his shoulder, as well as the influence of the opiate that was beginning to act on him, Erik pulled himself off the bed and went downstairs to where Angelique was sitting at the dinner table. He could hear her crying softly into a clean handkerchief, and hurried over to her.

"Please, don't cry." Gently, he placed a hand on her back. Angelique seemed to shrink away from him, and Erik closed his eyes. "This is really for the best, Angelique."

"How do you know what's best for me?" Her voice was muffled, but her words struck directly into Erik's heart. "You don't even trust me."

"Trust you? You want me to trust you?" There was an edge to his voice that he hadn't intended, and he reached over to grab her wrist. Pulling her to her feet, Erik brought her close enough to his face that she could see his eyes through his mask. She had seen them before, although not quite this closely. They were mismatched; one seemed as black as night while the other was a grayish blue, but Angelique wasn't discouraged. "If it means so much to you, take the damned thing off." Dropping her wrist, Erik stood before her with feeble resignation. Slowly, one of her hands moved towards his mask. Erik closed his eyes, anticipating her scream of fear. But it didn't come, and her hand didn't remove the mask. Opening his eyes, Erik saw that she was shaking her head.

"No…I won't hurt you like this. Please, forgive me for being so selfish." Turning to walk back to her room, Angelique was stopped by the gentle touch of Erik's hand on her shoulder.

"I know I shall regret this." The aching had moved from his shoulder to his chest, and as Angelique faced him again, he reached up and slowly removed the mask. Silence filled the house, and her face went white as her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. Erik shook his head. "Still think I look human?" There was no hiding the bitterness in his voice, but Angelique simply took a moment to compose herself before walking towards him and pressing a hand to the massive deformities that covered most of his face.

"Of course I do. Did I not say it doesn't matter what you look like?" Color had returned to her cheeks, and she gently ran her fingers over his cheek. Out of nowhere, tears began to fall from his eyes. "Oh…Erik, what's wrong?"

"How can you stand to look at me? To touch me? Even my own mother…" His voice faded as he looked away from Angelique, and she carefully turned his face back to her. Much to his surprise, her eyes were filled with concern.

"You have to believe me, Erik. I'm not like them. All I want is for you to be happy." Pressing her hands to his chest, Angelique smiled up at him. "You mean so very much to me."

"Why?" Even as she stood before him, Erik couldn't believe that a woman was speaking these words to him. The scent of lavender on her clothes was almost overpowering, and she stood on her tiptoes to tenderly kiss his misshapen cheek. 

"You protect me, you teach me… but it's more than simply returning a favor. I care for you in so many ways that I can't describe just one of them. And I…oh!" Gasping softly, Angelique touched his shoulder. "Oh, dear, you're leaking. Come on, let's get you back upstairs."

"Anything. Anything for you, my dear." The dizziness that had suddenly come upon him was due to more than just the drug she had given him, and a impish look came onto her face.

"In that case, I want you to sleep on my bed tonight. That coffin cannot be comfortable on that shoulder, and I don't want anything to happen to you." Helping Erik up the stairs was no easy task as he was taller than she by a great margin, but she managed somehow.

"But where will you sleep?"

"The couch in the corner. And I won't stand for any argument on the subject." They walked into her room, and Angelique helped him onto the bed. "There." Removing the mask from his hand, she placed it on her nightstand before carefully re-bandaging his wound. Once she was through, she looked up at him. "How are you doing?"

"A bit light-headed, actually." As he spoke, Angelique noticed that his eyes were fixed on her face. She attributed this to nothing more than the sedative effect of the medicine, and placed a hand gently on his cheek.

"Don't worry about anything. I promise I'll be right here beside you." It wasn't much longer before Erik had fallen asleep, and Angelique pulled the comforter over his still body. It was a bit chilly down here sometimes, and the last thing she wanted was for him to catch cold. 

As she tucked the comforter carefully around his injured shoulder, she moved to examine his face more closely. She had been shocked at first, most certainly, but all she had to do to regain her composure was think of the gentle way he picked her up after she had nearly been knocked unconscious on that New Year's Eve, the beautiful lyrics and melodies that came from his imagination, and the way his laughter made her feel positively warm all over.

Though Erik never spoke of the details of his childhood or life before Angelique had met him, it was obvious from the way he quickly refused any affectionate contact that his life had been terribly hard. Looking upon his true face in the flickering light of the candle, she wished that she could erase all the hate and pain he had been subjected to over the years with her affection for him. At that moment, she hated those who had hurt him even more than she hated the robbers who had killed her parents. 

Tenderly as a lover, Angelique smoothed his dark hair down with her fingertips as she gazed at his sleeping face. There was nothing else to be done about it. Now that she had seen his unmasked face, she knew she was completely and hopelessly in love with this man who tried so hard to push her away from him. Cautiously, so as not to wake him, Angelique leaned down to lightly plant a kiss on his forehead. Erik slept on.

True to her word, Angelique sat next to him all night.

* * *

When he awoke, it took Erik a moment to realize where he was. He knew for a fact that he wasn't in his own room. Frowning, he looked around. Was he in…Angelique's room?

"Look, he's awake." A soft voice piped up cheerfully from the dressing table. Turning his attention towards it, Erik saw that Angelique was rummaging through her sewing basket. She removed a little pair of scissors and proceeded to snip off the end of the thread she was holding before returning to the bedside. It was another moment before he realized that it was his shirt that she was so diligently mending, and she set it aside. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm not sure." A low, deep-set throbbing had come into his shoulder, and a memory of the night before drifted through his hazy mind. Angelique shook her head as she moved a bit closer to him

"Well, you certainly gave me an awful scare last night!" Although she was trying to be cheerful, the worry that saturated her voice was painfully evident. Erik could see that her eyes were red and tired-looking, and her dress was wrinkled. "I thought about knocking you out for three days, but that would just be plagiarism wouldn't it?"

"Have you been here all night?" Incredulous, Erik watched as Angelique nodded. "What in blazes possessed you to…" At once, an awful realization crept over him. Sitting upright, Erik reached up to try and cover his face with his hands. Doing so sent a shock of pain through his right arm, but it seemed much more important that Angelique not see his face. "What have you done with my mask?"

"Stop being silly," Angelique said, gently removing his hands from his face. "You'll start bleeding again." Her hands were surprisingly strong for a woman's, and Erik looked up at her.

"Angelique…please…I don't want you to see me like this. I don't want you…you of all people…to pity me." The pleading helplessness in his voice disgusted him, and he looked away from the caring eyes that were fixed on him. Firmly, Angelique turned his face back to hers.

"Pity you? Is that really how little you think of me?" Unable to bring himself to look in her eyes, Erik noticed that little curls of hair had escaped from the loose braid she had arranged. The light from the candle was catching these little curls and turning them into a sort of glowing halo as she smiled at him. "I may have a certain amount of pity for your situation, the way your life has been, but I could never pity you." A small laugh escaped her lips. "You wouldn't let me."

"Angelique…"

"There's much more to a man than just his face," she whispered gently as she leaned her face a little closer to his. "Especially if that man is as exceptional as you are, Erik." Her lips were close enough to his face to kiss him, but her words were sweeter than any kiss could have been. With a little smile, she stood up. "I've finished repairing your shirt."

"There's no need for you to…" 

"I can't stand to see torn clothes," she interrupted, shaking her head. "Besides, it's just a little rip." Angelique turned to pick up the shirt again, then looked back at Erik. "Are you hungry or anything? I still have a plate of burnt crepes downstairs."

"That's quite all right. I believe I'll just go to my room and rest." Pulling himself up from the bed, Erik incurred a doubtful look from Angelique as he took the mask from the bedside table and put it over his face. 

"I'd much rather you stayed here. But whatever makes you feel better." Moving the little bench so he could pass, Angelique placed a hand on his uninjured shoulder gently. "If you need anything, please don't hesitate to call for me."

"Why don't you get a little rest yourself?" Smiling, Erik caught her chin and turned her face up towards his. "You look exhausted, my dear."

"I'm fine, really. Actually, I'd probably do better to work some more on the opera. I didn't get a single thing done last night." Erik gave her a highly dubious look, and Angelique tried to smile reassuringly. "Don't worry about me, I know my own limits." The shadows beneath her eyes said something completely different, however, and as she went off down the hallway to the study, Erik shook his head. There was no reasoning with that woman.

Picking up his mended shirt and cravat, he went down the hall to his room. Once he was there, he proceeded to put on a slightly more comfortable shirt. Angelique had meant well, but the shirt she had given him was a bit too small. Inspecting the bandaging job on his shoulder, Erik was impressed with the thorough job she had done. The memories of her hands on his skin returned as if through a haze, and a surge of warmth passed over him. 

Quickly pulling the other shirt over his body, he quickly buttoned it and pulled his smoking jacket over it. Remembering the watch that was in his pocket, Erik searched through his dress jacket until he found it and turned it around. Going silently to her room, he placed it on her nightstand, a silent token of his gratitude as well as his affection for her. For a moment he stared at it, trying to picture the look on her face when she found it. A sudden idea came into his mind, and Erik hurried back down the hall.

Back in his own room, he pulled out a piece of paper and his leads. As he outlined the picture from within his memory, he wondered just why she had sat with him all night…without his mask, no less! But the state of his face didn't seem to concern her any more than the state of his room, although she had seemed a little shocked at first by it. 

All the memories of the night before were returning as the drug completely wore off, the careful way she had taken care of him, the quarrel they had over the mask, and finally his revealing his face to her. And as if confirming the accuracy of her name, she had continued to treat him as she had all these months. If he had known she was going to be as pleasant as she was that morning, he would have removed the mask sooner! 

But it didn't confirm or deny whether or not she actually had feelings for him. As happy as he had felt just minutes earlier, it turned into agony when he thought she might just be acting kind, as Christine had done in order to get him to allow her to go back to Raoul the first time. 

Somehow, though, he knew this wasn't true. Angelique was forever proving that although she was quite adept at hiding her feelings, she certainly wasn't a woman who hid her distaste at things. A spider had meandered through the dining room, and the woman had shrieked to heaven until he had removed the creature. But from her perch on the top of her chair, she had made certain that he wasn't actually going to harm it, asking him if he would please just put it outside. Certainly she knew the futility of that gesture, the spider would only find his way back inside. 

Spiders were most definitely her weak spot, and she would crawl up onto something and scream loudly until Erik came to remove the insect from her view. And if he wasn't at home, she would crawl onto something and remain there until he returned. Once, he found her on the bookshelf. When Erik had mentioned the fact that the spider was perfectly capable of crawling up there with her, her face had turned white and she had threatened him with a book. And when he had laughed at her, she had pitched several of the books at him. 

After a while, he was sure he had just been removing the same spider over and over. But no matter how many times he did so, it never became too tedious. The look of relief on her face was thanks enough for him, and he suspected that he was beginning to enjoy having her depend on him for something. 

Beneath his hands, the picture was done. Although he wasn't sure how long he had been working at it, the image on the page was nothing short of perfection. Tucking it into the leather folder, Erik started down the hall towards the study. Maybe one day he would actually show her the drawings. 

Entering the study, he had to hold back his laughter when he saw Angelique. She had fallen asleep on the little writing desk, the quill still grasped in her little fingers. Her face looked completely peaceful, and he was reluctant to wake her up. Still, he couldn't let her sleep in that position, it looked greatly uncomfortable.

As soon as he placed a hand on her back, her eyes fluttered open unsurely to look up at him. Blinking, she picked her head up from the table and, realizing that she had been asleep, sat bolt upright in her chair. 

"I wasn't asleep. I was just…checking to see if the desk was level." Suddenly, Erik roared with laughter, causing Angelique's face to flush with embarrassment. "It's not that funny," she grumbled defensively. Without a word, Erik took her arm and led her to her room, the only room in the house with a mirror. Still laughing, he turned her cheek toward the glass to show her what he was laughing at.

Printed backwards across the side of her face in bright red ink were the last eight bars of Act One. Angelique turned even redder as Erik tried to contain his laughter, and she reached for a handkerchief.

"No, no," he managed through his chuckling. "We can't have you ruin a masterpiece like this!" Inspecting her cheek closer, Erik started laughing again. "Of course, this means you'll have to walk around with Phoebus' final chord on your cheek for the rest of your life."

"I'm glad you find it so hilarious!" With a smile, Angelique folded her arms. "I simply live to amuse you." Giving her a handkerchief, Erik smiled.

"Wipe your face."

"Didn't I just say I live to amuse you?"


	7. Portrait of a December

Portrait of a December

"Yuck." Angelique sat in the bathroom, peevishly dabbing at the red ink she had spilled down the front of her dress. Erik wasn't home at the moment, and she thought she heard him coming in the front door. In her haste to answer the door, she had bumped the inkpot with her hand and spilled it down her front. 

Berating herself for being so jumpy, she decided it would be easier to clean the dress if she just took it off. Once the dress was lying over the rim of the bathtub, Angelique went into her room to find another dress. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, though, she noticed that the ink had seeped through onto her slip. Cursing in a way a lady shouldn't, she stripped off the thin slip and rummaged through her things.

Her closet was full of new dresses and shoes, but for some reason she had neglected to purchase another slip. Angelique wanted to kick herself as she remembered all the times she had been in the ladies' shops and thought she would just buy one later. After all, now that she had an actual nightdress she didn't need to wear her slip to bed. Erik had brought her a pointlessly frilly thing one time, which she had worn a few times to make him feel better, but she had gone and bought a plainer one quickly. 

This didn't make up for the fact that she didn't have a slip to wear under her clothes, and she frowned. Maybe it wouldn't be too obvious. Selecting a nice striped dress, Angelique put it on and stood before the mirror. It didn't look too bad…except… Blushing, Angelique took off the dress and hung it up. There was no use in pretending. Even through the material of the heavy winter dress it was embarrassingly obvious that she wasn't wearing anything beneath it. 

Smacking the row of dresses with annoyance, she wondered how long she could sit around the house in her cloak before Erik got suspicious. Suddenly her eyes lit upon the Gypsy dress she had bought in a fit of impulse. The patterns of the dress were so wild that no one would notice the absence of a slip, at least long enough for her to run out and buy one. Wriggling into the dress, Angelique was pleased with her spark of ingenuity. As soon as Erik came back, she would go up to the Rue Scribe and buy a slip.

Going back to the study, she made sure the scarf was positioned properly over her bosom so as not to give any indication of her lack of undergarments. She would have to hurry, since she knew that if Erik took one look at her she would turn crimson with embarrassment. Sometimes it seemed as if that man knew everything. Determined that she wouldn't give him enough time to know everything this time, Angelique went back to work on the opera.

It was already more than half finished, and with every song she loved it more and more. The music was hers, but Erik's lyrics made her notes come alive with emotion. Sometimes, though, it felt as if he was reading her mind when he wrote Quasimodo's ballads, putting into words the longing she had begun to feel more and more often when she was with him. Since her revelation on the night she had finally seen behind the mask, it was becoming difficult to be in the same room with him.

Having no practical experience with romance, Angelique was having to rely simply on the odd emotions she was feeling for guidance. Unfortunately, her emotions never wanted to guide her anywhere but into Erik's arms, and this was becoming a source of distraction. But of course she couldn't just tell him how she felt. Who would want a lovesick little fool following them around the house?

Immersed in these thoughts, Angelique didn't hear the front door open. Her emotions were leaking onto the paper as she wrote, and when Erik appeared in the doorway of the study, she was too focused on the aria to realize he was there.

When she looked up to try and capture a thought, Angelique noticed that Erik was standing in the doorway, a look of complete surprise on his masked face. It took her a moment to remember that she was without undergarment, but when she did she jumped up and shot past him out the door, her cheeks burning. 

Erik didn't even have a chance to ask her if she remembered what day it was before she was gone, out the front door and into the boat. Figuring she must have had a good reason for not even bothering to say goodbye, he went to his room and took off his cloak and hat. 

When he was up in the opera house, he had realized with some surprise that it was the anniversary of the very day that he had first seen Angelique. Unable to believe that she had already been down there almost a year, Erik had rushed back to tell her. Since she was gone, though, he opened the leather folder and removed the drawings he had done of her. Although his hand had created more of them since that night, his favorite picture by far was still the one he had drawn on the night that he had been injured. 

Like a guardian angel she had taken care of him, and in that particular drawing it was the way he had chosen to portray her. Her gentle eyes were smiling as her hands worked at mending his torn shirt, and a pair of intricately feathered wings was visible around her shoulders. It was as close to a religious picture as Erik was ever going to get, but he was pleased with it nonetheless.

But when he had walked into the study and saw her in that Gypsy dress, Erik had frozen. He didn't know where she had gotten it, or even why she was wearing it, but images had flooded back into his mind of a time in his life that he tried quite hard not to remember. The screams of women and bargains he had made to spare himself the humiliation of those cries rushed back with terrible power, and Erik buried his face in his hands. Just a child.

It wasn't the dress, but the realization that she looked right in it. Shaking his head, Erik couldn't believe he hadn't seen it before. The blue of her eyes had thrown him off, but he should have known by their shape, as well as the shape of her face, that he had the answer to the question that seemed to be written on her face more frequently as of late. And from the color of her eyes and the lightness of her skin, he was fairly certain he knew why she had been cast aside like a piece of trash when she was a baby.

The Romany people frowned upon mixed blood; a pure lineage was something to be proud of. And while they were religious in their own right, Gypsies sometimes weren't as compelled to keep around an unwanted child as the self-righteous Catholics who overran Paris. Erik had learned at an early age that if it were not for the strict beliefs of the Catholic Church, his mother would have done away with him as carelessly as Angelique's mother had done. Sometimes, when he was a boy, he wondered whether it would have been better for her to have done so.

Now the only question was whether to tell her or not. Angelique had a very tenuous grasp of her childhood as it was, and he didn't want to ruin any illusions she might still be harboring about her real parents. He didn't want to hurt her in any way, but he also didn't want to hide anything from her. 

Such was the dilemma of falling in love. Though he had tried his best to keep himself from developing such powerful feelings for her, her beauty and intelligence had opened the door to his heart just a crack, and over the months she had been with him, her uncontrived kindness had wedged its little foot in the door until he was unable to conceive of not loving her.

The night she had so gently cared for him and watched over him, even after seeing him without his mask, had been the true trial of her compassion as far as he was concerned. No woman, or man for that matter, had ever been able to look upon his face with anything but fear or repulsion. But Angelique never left his side until she was sure he was well again. And when she had put her face so close to his and told him that he was exceptional…it was almost unthinkable. 

An undisclosed amount of time later, Erik heard the front door slam. Snapping out of his trance-like state, he quickly put away the drawings before she could come in and see them. But Angelique didn't come into his room as she usually did, and her footsteps passed his door without stopping.

Standing slowly, Erik went to her door. Hesitating for a moment, he decided that Angelique herself would help him judge whether or not he would bring up the subject. Knocking softly on the heavy wood that his own hands had fashioned so many years ago, Erik took a deep breath.

"Just a moment!" There was a muffled rustling and scraping behind the door, and a moment later it opened. Angelique stood before him, leisurely brushing her thick hair. At once Erik saw it again, even though she had discarded the Gypsy dress for a fashionably checkered French dress. In her wavy, dark hair, the shape of her eyes, even the soft curve of her lips, he could see the lines of her ancestry. "Is something wrong?" Erik realized that he had been staring at her. 

"No…that dress looks quite pretty on you." A smile spread across Angelique's face, and he knew at once that he had to tell her.

"Thank you." She went to put the brush down, and Erik cleared his throat.

"Angelique, it is quite important that I speak to you." His voice sounded much more serious than before, and Angelique nodded.

"Certainly. Shall we go to the study?" Closing her door, Angelique took his arm. "Can we go to the opera tonight?"

"Of course, my dear. But I thought the opera had ceased to entertain you." Leading her into the study, Erik wondered what brought on her sudden change of heart about the opera.

"Tonight they are giving Prophete, not one of those terrible new pieces. Also, today is my birthday." Reminded of the news he had intended to tell her earlier, Erik nodded. "You knew?"

"Actually, I was going to mention that today was the anniversary of the day…" Suddenly it occurred to Erik that she didn't know that he had been watching her for days before they had actually met. "…That you saw your first opera. I was unaware that this was your birthday."

"It is. And today I shall be twenty-three." She sounded so proud of this fact that Erik knew he had to think of a diplomatic way of telling her that she had been dumped into what her mother no doubt thought was a sewer twenty-three years earlier just because she wasn't a pure-blooded Gypsy.

"Perhaps you should take a seat," he said rather softly. Angelique pressed a hand to his arm, her eyes worried.

"Erik, is something wrong?" 

"Please, just have a seat." He was still having a difficult time trying to figure out what to say to her. "Forgive me for what I'm about to tell you, Angelique. It occurred to me earlier when I saw you in that dress just who your parents may have been." Clearing his throat again nervously, Erik prodded himself onward as he turned towards the bookshelf. "When I was a boy, I was…living…with a band of Gypsies."

"You?" Angelique seemed incredulous about this, and Erik looked away from her. She could see that his hands were clenched into fists. One of her hands went up to cover her mouth. "Oh…I think I understand."

"They had me on display like an animal," Erik spat angrily. He hadn't ever intended to tell her about his past, especially his childhood, but somehow it began to spill out. "I hated them, every damned one of them."

"If it still bothers you so much, I don't want you to talk about it." Getting up, she crossed the room to where Erik was standing. Gently, she took his arm and pulled him over to the chair. "Here, sit down."

"This really isn't…" 

"You're upset. Would you like some wine?" Without waiting for an answer, Angelique poured a glass of red wine and pressed it into his hand. "There." Smiling, she took his face into her hands. "Erik…if I could, I would take away everything that hurt you. But I can't…so all I can do is promise that as long as I'm here, I'll do my best not to ever let anyone else hurt you again."

"Angelique…" Not knowing exactly what to say, Erik was silent for a moment. Her hands were cool and soft against the exposed parts of his face, and her thumb lightly traced the strong line of his jaw. With this single gesture of affection, he suddenly knew what to do. Erik stood up and took her hand. "Come with me."

"Where are we going?" Laughing gently, Angelique followed him as they ran out the door to the boat. "Erik, what is this about?"

"You'll see." Behind the mask, he couldn't hide his smile. In the front of the boat, Angelique sat on the pillows, arms folded. The boat never seemed to move so slowly through the darkened waters as it did at that moment, and when its bow finally bumped against the stone boundary of the lake, she jumped up. Erik laughed. "My dear, you're going to tip over the boat!"

"Then tell me where we're going!" Her eyes were blazing with excitement, and Erik laughed softly.

"All right, all right. Let's get out, shall we?" Stepping out of the boat, he offered a hand to Angelique. She eagerly grabbed it and jumped out of the boat as well. Unlocking the gate to the Rue Scribe entrance, Erik led her through. "We're here." 

"Rue Scribe? What's special about this place?"

"This is the place where I found you twenty-three years ago." His voice was soft as he took her arm and led her to the dank corner where her cries had led him. "You were crying…wrapped in a piece of newspaper."

"Here?" Sinking to her knees on the cold stone floor, Angelique looked into the corner. It was wet with melted snow that had leaked through the entrance, and a small amount of decomposing leaves sat in the corner, blackish remnants of autumn comings and goings by the very two people who stood before them now. With a shaking hand, Angelique brushed the leaves away from the corner and gazed at the empty space.

"Gypsy people don't look kindly upon children of mixed blood. There's a good chance your mother planned to leave you here from the day she found out she was pregnant by a man who wasn't of Romany descent." His voice was low, and Angelique nodded without turning her head. There was a heavy silence, and Erik walked over to place a hand on her shoulder. 

"It's funny," she said, her voice breaking with tears. "But I'm not really mad at her. Because…because if she hadn't left me here…" Turning to him at last, Erik could see that tears were streaming down her face like a waterfall. "Then I might never have known you."

"Angelique…" Not sure what to do, Erik knelt beside her. As he did, he noticed that she was shivering. Removing his jacket, he placed it around her shoulders gently. "I should never have brought you without a cloak. Let's get you back to the house." Angelique did not protest as he led her back to the boat. She turned to look at the spot again, then clung to Erik's arm tightly as he helped her into the boat.

* * *

Somehow, she managed to cheer up as soon as they stepped through the doors of the house. Nodding towards the upstairs, she said she was going to get ready for the opera. In the discussion of her origin, he had completely forgotten about the opera. 

A sharp pang of guilt was working its way through Erik's person. This was her birthday, her special day, and he had gone and ruined it with this talk of past. Why had he felt the need to tell her about her mother? If she were to ask him this very moment about his own mother, he was sure that he would rebuke her with nothing short of his bitterest anger. His own mother…

Wanting to make it up to her somehow, Erik put on his cloak and headed for the boat. Angelique's tears had struck so deeply into his heart, but her words…her strange words were almost comforting. If her mother had never left her, she might never have met him. By themselves, the words weren't so terribly odd. But when they were being aimed at a monster such as himself, at a place which was as chafingly solemn as the place where she had been found, they seemed so appallingly ambiguous. 

Trying to put the words from his mind, he began the journey across the lake. Remembering a far-off story, he knew exactly what to give her. 

As Erik made his way beyond the lake, Angelique was carefully selecting a dress from the ones in her closet. Whenever a new dress appeared in her closet, it was always certain to be the very picture of modern fashion. Many things continued to amaze her about the man in the mask, one of which was his impeccable taste in clothing. Nothing less than the best for her, it seemed, and the thought was both warming and unnerving. Selecting a lovely blue evening dress, so dark it seemed as if it were black, she lay the garment over her bed and started for the bathroom. 

Somehow, she was managing to keep from thinking about her mother. She knew if she allowed those thoughts into her mind, it would only upset her again. Although she knew that these emotions couldn't stay bottled up forever, it wouldn't do any good to make another scene. Especially not at the opera.

Undressing slowly, she noticed that it was as lavish in furnishing, as her room, and Angelique wondered briefly about the article she had read so long ago about the mysterious Phantom of the Opera stealing away a beautiful young diva. Was this once her bathroom as well?

Realizing that she was out of soap, Angelique pulled a dressing gown over her slender frame and cinched the sash tightly. Wishing that she hadn't undressed so quickly, but feeling as if there weren't enough time to put her dress back on, she opened her door carefully and went into the hall.

"Erik? Erik, where are you? I've run out of soap, and…" No one answered her call, and she decided that he must be gone. Wishing that he would tell her when he was leaving, she proceeded to search for the soap. After a thorough search of all the places a person usually keeps soap, she entered into his room. 

Somehow, once she was in his room, she managed to find the soap quite easily. In a small, short cabinet she found a box of the sweet-smelling colored soaps that he usually placed in her bathroom. Picking one up, Angelique started out of the room again. Being in Erik's room without his knowledge didn't feel right at all, and she was just about to head back into her room when she noticed that the shirt she had so carefully washed and mended was lying on a couch in the corner.

That night, she had been so consumed with worry and exhaustion that she couldn't even remember how she got the blood out of his shirt. Now, she brushed the shirt with her fingers gently. Erik hadn't worn it yet…it was separate from his other clothes, as if he had singled it out for some reason. 

Beside it was a long, intricately patterned man's dressing gown. Angelique picked it up, letting the soft material run through her fingers. It was so supple, so delicate, that it was almost like liquid in her hands. Of course it was Erik's, who else's could it be? Pressing the material to her face, Angelique inhaled. At once she was inundated with his scent, lightheaded and warm feeling with the spicy aroma of the Oriental attar she had come to associate with his strong arms and deep, sensual voice. Angelique wondered if he knew just how incredible his voice was as she continued to rub the gown over her face. It had to be silk. Nothing but silk felt this soft. Did Erik wear this at night? 

A sudden desire to wrap the material around her body, to be enveloped by his smell and feel the whispery fabric caress her skin, came over her. The very thought of this minor indulgence made her knees feel a little weak. Carefully folding the dressing gown, Angelique put it back on the chair and headed to her room. If Erik found her in his room mauling his dressing gown, he would unquestionably think she was mad.

Stepping out of her own dressing gown, Angelique slipped into the hot water. The heat quickly turned her skin bright red, and she ran her hands over the cool marble, whose color was as pink as the newborn dawn. No doubt this bathroom was made especially for a woman with its elegant fixtures and delicate trim, and her mind wandered aimlessly in circles. Twenty-three years old, and this was the first real time she had ever been in love. That silly infatuation with her cousin's friend didn't count; she had never gotten up the nerve to tell him about her feelings. Angelique sighed softly. 

But this…this was different. This was delicate. This was…Erik. 

* * *

Feeling greatly refreshed after her bath, Angelique descended the stairs to find Erik standing next to the dining table. He looked as if he had been waiting for her, and she smiled brightly as she hurried down the last few stairs.

"Oh, I'm so glad you're back!" As she approached him, Erik pulled her chair out from under the table with a pleasant nod. 

"And I am quite glad to be back. In fact, I have brought you a small gift." Across her place was lying a bundle of red roses, which Angelique picked up with a gasp. "I remembered a beautiful legend I once heard about red roses. So beautiful…and yet so sad." Gently, he reached out to touch a petal of one of the roses. A lovely face turned up to look at him.

"What was the legend?" Her voice was soft, awed by the gesture. Erik looked sad for a moment, as if remembering something. But the smile returned to his face as quickly as it had faded, and he shook his head.

"Another time, perhaps. But for now, I have prepared a lovely dinner especially for your birthday. And if we are going to have time to eat and go to the Opera Populaire, I shall hurry and bring you the first course now." Disappearing down the hall, Erik continued to speak. Angelique looked at the roses.

"First course? You make me feel like royalty!" Carefully looking at the roses, she noticed there were exactly twenty-three of them. This detail did not escape her attention, and Angelique buried her face in the red petals. A legend? Why had he looked so sad?

"We shall begin with a small _antipasto_. I do hope you like prosciutto. Some claim it's an acquired taste, I shall let you decide for yourself." There was something in Erik's voice she hadn't heard in a while, complete excitement. Behind the mask she knew he was grinning like a Cheshire cat, and Angelique resolved that for tonight she would let him treat her like the princess he seemed to think she was. "What kind of wine would you like with your dinner, my dear?"

"You know I don't know a thing about wine! Pick out whatever you think is best, and I shall drink it." 

"Of course! How could I have forgotten!" Erik made a small bow of courtesy to her. "I shall return in a moment, then. Do not bother to wait for me." Setting aside the roses, Angelique picked up a fork and speared a piece of the strange pink and white meat. Satisfied that she was trying it, he disappeared down the hallway to the wine cellar. 

The instant he was gone, Angelique proceeded to put down the prosciutto and poke at it with a fork. She had no earthly idea what this was, and it seemed to be wound around something. Carefully disentangling the marbled meat from its core, she found that it was a small slice of melon. Certain that she liked melon, Angelique ate it happily as she tried to figure out what this pink thing was. Erik had called it some odd Italian name… she supposed it was a delicacy there. Here it just looked like uncooked bacon.

Pushing it around the perimeter of her plate, Angelique decided that it was probably harmless. After all, Erik wouldn't feed her anything that would do her damage. Biting the end off of it, she was pleased to discover that it was the richest tasting meat she had ever had the good fortune to put into her mouth. Though she wasn't sure how it would taste with the melon, Angelique picked up another one and stared at it. Of course Erik would know what he was doing…he wouldn't give her something odd just as an experiment. Of course he wouldn't! 

Hearing footsteps on the stairs, she poked the mouthful of melon and meat into her mouth and chewed vigorously, hoping she wouldn't gag. That was one indignity she would never suffer before a man like him.

* * *

Not wanting to keep Angelique waiting for her beverage, Erik took the steps up from the wine cellar two at a time. As he did so, he reflected on just how much more difficult this became with every year. Certainly, he wasn't getting any younger. But his memory and mind were as sharp as ever.

The legend of the red rose had come into his mind for no good reason, but once he had remembered it, roses seemed like the perfect way to commemorate the passage of another year. Twenty-three of them; one for each year she had lived on this earth. As he brought them back to her, though, he thought of the single rose that signified the year she had been with him. It didn't feel like enough. 

According to the old legend, the red rose was the result of the illicit love between a white rose and a nightingale. The scarlet petals of the flower that was born of the affair had come to signify a forbidden love, a longing that could neither be contained or confessed…the perfect blossom for the occasion.

He hated thinking this way. It just made him melancholy, and he didn't need to upset Angelique any further on her birthday. Erik knew it would make her unhappy just to see him in a bad humor, and he pushed all thoughts of the rose out of his mind. While he was with her, he would try his best not to look unhappy.

As he emerged into the dining room, however, Erik realized at once that he wouldn't have to bother with pretending. Angelique had the queerest look on her face, telling him that she had tried the prosciutto. She was chewing slowly, causing Erik to wonder whether or not she'd been working on the same piece since he had left. Noticing that he was in the room, Angelique swallowed quickly and gave him a rather guilty smile, causing Erik to laugh. Trying her best to look cross, she folded her arms.

"Am I really so very amusing?"

"Indeed," he said, continuing to laugh as he opened and poured the wine into her glass. "If you don't like it, you don't have to eat it on my behalf." In response to his remark, Angelique proceeded to seize the stem of the glass and gulp down the rest of the wine. Shaking his head as she held up the glass for more, he refilled her glass. "You really must slow down, Angelique. I have no intention of hauling an intoxicated woman around all night, as you give the impression you would be quite a noisy drunk."

"You would do well to stop while you're ahead, Erik dearest, or I shall show you just what a noisy drunk I can be." Grinning at him as he went back to his chair, Angelique made a point of taking another sip of wine.

"What a trying woman you are," he sighed, sitting down. "Would you like me to bring you something else to eat?"

"No. The melon and the prosciutto," Angelique stumbled over the word, "are very good by themselves, but together they taste…strange." She picked up another piece unsurely. "Is it impolite to simply separate them?"

"My dear, if it makes you happy to disunite them, then by all means do so." His permission to do little more than play with her food seemed to make her more at ease, and Angelique proceeded to go about placing the melon and the meat into separate piles before eating them. Erik decided to place this into the category of 'beloved peculiarities' as he went into the kitchen to get the next course.

By the time she was finished, she was looking happy as a clam. Erik brought her cloak and they headed for the boat. As she stepped into the boat, Angelique made a remark about sinking before they even got to the opera house. This earned her a shake of the head from Erik, who rebutted with the comment that she could stand to gain a few more pounds. Angelique tried to look offended, but couldn't help smiling a little.

Making it across the lake at a leisurely pace, the boat finally knocked against the space he had made for it, and Erik helped Angelique out so he could tie the boat up. While she was standing, waiting for him to finish, Angelique thought she heard something. Picking up her head, she saw that Erik did the same.

"The music…the opera has begun already!" Still unfamiliar with the passages beneath the opera house, Angelique looked around for a place to go. Erik grabbed her hand gently and pulled her in the opposite direction.

"Come, I know a better way." Slipping behind a wall, he began to run. As Erik's legs were a great deal longer than hers, Angelique stumbled behind him in an attempt to keep his pace. The rich food and wine, along with the layers of winter clothes didn't help matters at all, and she dragged behind Erik as lightly as a doll.

Still, there was something thrilling about running behind the walls of the opera house with Erik. For those few minutes, she felt as if she were closer to him than she had ever been, and it was nice. Angelique gently squeezed his hand as they hurried up a long flight of stairs, and he looked back to see her smiling, flushed face close behind him.

When they reached the end of the passage, Erik opened the wall to lead her into the great hall. The opera had already begun, so the hall was completely deserted, and Angelique took a moment to fix her hair before the round mirror over a small table. From the entrance to the patron's boxes, Mme Giry suddenly appeared. One of her withered hands flew up to cover her mouth as she realized who was standing before her.

"Monsieur!" Her voice was no more than a whisper, and Erik turned to look at her. Bowing cordially to her, he smiled.

"Good evening, Mme Giry. I trust our seats are reserved for the performance?" To this morbidly dressed woman, Angelique had noticed that he was always completely gregarious. Glad that he was in a better mood, she turned back to the mirror to finish arranging her hair. All that running had put it out of place, and she wished a little that she had a brush. 

"Monsieur…you haven't been attending the performances lately…for several weeks now it seems! The managers, you see…they thought it would be better to…" From what Angelique knew of Mme Giry, she had always presented herself as being a grand dame of the theatre, never flagging or giving the least sign of surrender in any situation. Many times, she had stood up to the managers without even a second thought. But now something was wrong. Angelique could tell from the woman's voice that she was flustered, and it was unlike Mme Giry to lose her composure. Sensing the immediate tension that began to radiate from Erik's dark figure, Angelique moved to his side to place a calming hand on his arm.

"So you are saying they have sold our box." The exactness of his words made the amount of restraint he was demonstrating quite evident.

"I tried my best to convince them otherwise," she said, spreading out her hands in a gesture of frustration. "But they would not listen to reason…they would not have any of it and swore that you must surely be dead!"

"I see." Beneath her hand, Erik's arm was beginning to tremble, and Angelique could see that his powerful hands were clenched into fists. She knew something was going to happen, and she was fairly certain she knew what. "Tonight of all nights, they pull this fool stunt. I bring my Angelique here tonight in order to celebrate her birthday, and those damnable idiots will not even allow me a seat_ in my own theatre?_" Building to a truly dangerous crescendo, Erik's voice thundered through the hallway. Fortunately, the orchestra's music was too loud in the theatre for his voice to be heard inside, but Mme Giry realized with horror that the man who had never shown her a thing but kindness was slowly advancing on her.

"Believe me, Monsieur, I had nothing to do with it! You know I should never be part of such a thing!" Backing hurriedly out of the hall, Mme Giry fled for her place in the wings of the stage. There was not even the faintest spark of sanity in Erik's eyes at that moment, and she had seen this before. The best thing was to stay out of his way.

With an angry roar, Erik proceeded to grab a nearby vase and slam it against the wall. The managers should have known better than to direct such an affront at him, and the thing that made him the angriest was the fact that they knew he wasn't dead. He had picked up his salary only about a week earlier and reminded them to keep his box open. The vase shattered against the door, and he picked up the table that it had been sitting on to give it the same treatment. 

Standing helpless nearby, Angelique knew there was nothing he could do as he went about the hall, picking up nearly anything that wasn't bolted down and hurling it at the walls. The strains of music filtered out into the hallway, mixing with Erik's rage to produce a worrying cacophony that showed no signs of stopping. Angelique didn't know how the patrons within the theatre were not hearing this commotion, but the last thing she needed was for someone to come out and see him. In this state, she knew Erik was capable of anything, and though if they had been in his house she would have been able to let him simply release his frustrations on their fine china, she knew that up here she had to do something.

"Erik!" Angelique ran over and grabbed his arm, hoping to break him out of the fury he had worked himself into. "Stop this nonsense at once!" The eyes that turned to her showed no signs of recognition, and he responded by jerking his arm away from her little hands. As he pulled away from her, his hand reflexively flew back and slapped her across the face. Reeling from the strength of the unanticipated strike, she stumbled clumsily backwards a few steps with a small cry of surprise. The muted sound seemed to snap Erik out of his blind rage, and his eyes focused on the small figure that stood stoically before him, pressing a hand to her cheek. 

"Oh!" Realizing at once what he had done, Erik gasped as he hurried to her. Hearing his footsteps approaching, Angelique's eyes opened, causing Erik to stop in his tracks. There was an unnamable hurt in her eyes that she seemed desperately trying to conceal. "My darling, are you alright?" To his amazement, she nodded.

"Yes, I'm fine. Let's hurry out of here before someone comes out and sees this awful mess you made." Still holding a hand to her stinging cheek, Angelique pulled Erik towards the passage in the wall. Erik shook his head.

"To hell with them!" Feeling a bit sick, Erik pulled her fingers away from her cheek to discover that it was marked with the reddish imprint of his hand. "How could I have done this? Can you ever begin to forgive me?"

"I said I'm fine. Please, let's just go!" Her voice held a note of impatience as she began feeling the perimeter of the wall for the trigger of the passage. Becoming quickly frustrated with the whole thing, she kicked it with some annoyance. With a single smooth motion, Erik set off the mechanism and followed her into the wall. Once the passage had closed around them, she seemed more comfortable as she looked up at him. "Really, I'm not hurt at all."

"You know the last thing I ever want to do is hurt you…" Erik's voice was shaking as he reached over to touch her cheek, stopping only a few millimetres short. "I can't…please forgive me…"

"Erik, dear…don't give it another thought." Gently, Angelique took his hand and pressed it to her cheek. Her skin was as soft as ever, but there was a slow heat emanating from the mark which could not be ignored, and which Erik hated to think that he was responsible for. "See, I'm fine."

"Forgive me," he murmured over her little face sadly. "I'm so terribly, terribly sorry about this, Angelique." 

"Let's just go back to the house, okay?" Her whispered voice seemed to echo through the passage, and Erik nodded slowly.

"Yes…that's probably best, isn't it?"

* * *

Once they were back in the house, Angelique insisted upon going to her room for a little bit. Her roses were still lying on the dining room table, and she picked them up before going up the stairs and to her room. 

After the door closed, she set the roses down and looked at them. It was so cool down here that they hadn't yet begun to wilt, and she wondered if she could find a nice vase for them downstairs. 

Her cheek was throbbing from the slap, and she took a moment to look at it in the mirror. There was still a red mark there, but it was quickly fading. Reaching up to her face, Angelique carefully placed her fingers on the imprint of his fingers. His hands were so much bigger, his fingers longer and more graceful than hers…and also capable of inflicting more pain.

Though she had known perfectly well that he hadn't been aware of what he was doing, the fact that he had raised a hand to her was no less painful. Angelique told herself that she was being overly worried, that Erik would never hurt her if he were…if he were in his right mind.

Just the thought of questioning his sanity felt like a betrayal, and she sank onto her bed. Of course Erik was sane. Whenever he was with her, writing the opera or even simply reading a book before the fire, he was nothing short of the perfect gentleman. It was just sometimes, when he lost his temper, that he seemed to forget who she was. Usually she tried to stay out of his way when he got to that point, but sometimes it wasn't possible. Still, he had never struck her before. 

Slipping her gown off her shoulders, she pulled the unnecessarily lacy nightgown Erik had bought for her out of the closet and put it on. Sighing heavily, she pulled the dressing gown over it and started downstairs to look for a vase for her flowers. She noticed that Erik's door was closed, and she assumed that he had decided to hide in his own room for a little while. Moving slowly down the stairs, she wondered what exactly he was thinking at that moment.

* * *

Alone in his room, Erik was in despair. Every time he thought of how he had struck his beloved Angelique, he felt sick all over again. And she had taken it! He could think of few other women who would stand such treatment from a man, especially from a man like him, without anger.

The most worrisome thing was that he couldn't remember what had happened before that. He had no inkling as to why the Opera Populaire's beautiful ornaments were smashed into little bits, and he had no idea as to why Angelique had been in the path of his hand in the first place. All he could really remember about it was that the managers had sold his box that night, and then everything was a blur until he had heard Angelique cry out, felt the soft warmth of her cheek yielding to his angry hand. When he had realized what he had done, he had immediately come to his senses. Seeing the hurt in Angelique's eyes had almost been too much for him, and he didn't know what to do. He had wanted to take her into his arms and tell her how sorry he was, but he couldn't. 

Completely disgusted with his own behavior, Erik turned away from the organ. Right now she was probably in her room, thinking of when she was going to leave. Surely she wouldn't want to stay after this.

There was a little scuffling sound from downstairs, followed by a shriek of terror that chilled Erik's blood. Snatching his dressing gown, he cinched the belt around his waist as he hurried to see what the problem was.

When he found her in the kitchen in her nightgown, perched upon one of the cabinets like a cat, the wave of relief that washed over him was almost indescribable. Erik laughed gently and began searching the floor for the spider. Her voice shaking uncontrollably, Angelique pointed at the cabinet.

"U-u-under there…when I reached for the v-v-vase, he f-f-fell on my hand." The poor girl looked as if she were about to cry, and Erik knelt down to pick up the spider. Upon doing so, he realized that it was quite dead.

"You have nothing to fear from this one, Angelique, he's already passed on." Pretending for a moment to inspect the spider, Erik looked up at her with a smile. "Possibly from fright." 

"C-c-can you put him out anyway?" Not catching his joke, her blue eyes remained wide. Erik nodded.

"Of course. I shall even give him a little requiem." With that, Erik disappeared for a few moments, returning empty handed. Breathing a sigh of relief, Angelique watched him wash his hands in the basin before reaching up to help her down. "It is safe again for you to come down. No spider shall bother your sleep tonight." Scooting out a little from the cabinet, Angelique's legs dangled from the cupboard for a moment as Erik's hands nearly encircled her waist and brought her down to the floor. "I don't understand, my dear, how you manage to get up there in the first place."

"To be honest, I don't know. It's just a reflex, I believe. I get scared and the next thing I know, I'm up on a cabinet. But you always come to save me…you have since I was a baby." At this last part, her voice dropped. Erik motioned to the upstairs. 

"Shall we go up to the study?"

"Yes, please. It's a little chilly down here." They walked slowly up the stairs together, neither knowing exactly what to say. In the fireplace, a small fire was burning brightly. Erik made sure that Angelique was sitting comfortably in one of the arm chairs before moving over to throw another log on the fire. As he knelt to do so, he continued to stare into the fire. Somehow, he couldn't bear to look her in the eye at that moment. 

"Angelique…I don't know how I can even begin to apologize for the truly abominable way I behaved earlier. To treat you like I did was completely unforgivable." The firelight flickered around him, and Angelique stood up slowly. "I don't understand why you're still here."

"How many times must I tell you that you needn't worry about it before you believe me, Erik?" Going to him slowly, Angelique gently placed a hand on his shoulder. He turned to look up at her, not knowing what he would find in her eyes. "At the theatre, when I saw your eyes…you didn't know me. It wasn't you that I saw at all." Kneeling down beside him, Angelique smiled. "And it's going to take more than a little tap on the cheek to get rid of me." 

"My dear…" There was something intimate about being together by the fireplace in their nightclothes, and Erik looked at her with a smile. "About your mother…I'm sorry I brought it up on your birthday."

"Don't be. I'm glad you told me, because at least now I know who I have to thank for bringing me to you." Her eyes were shining with tears, and Erik decided to ask her something he had meant to ask for quite some time.

"You truly like living here with me?" Carefully, he pushed a lock of hair out of her face, and Angelique looked at him as if he was asking her if she liked breathing. 

"There is no other place I would rather be than with you," she said softly. Though she wasn't sure why she was saying these things all of a sudden, the look that came onto Erik's face was more than enough encouragement. "If I could, I think I'd like to be with you forever." 

"Then…you don't feel obligated to stay?" A deep sigh escaped Angelique's lips as she closed her eyes.

"For such an intelligent man, you can be so dense sometimes!" Leaning forward, she gently rested her forehead against his. The hard porcelain of the mask was slightly uncomfortable against her skin, and she wondered how Erik was able to stand it all day. "My name isn't Persephone. I'm here because I like being with you, not because of any silly obligation." Her voice was soft, and she met his gaze. "From the first time I heard your voice in the opera house…I wanted to be with you. Now, I can't imagine living without you." This caused Erik to move away from her and look down into his hands.

"But why? Why would a woman like you want to be locked away down here with a creature like me?" His voice threatened to crack, but Angelique simply reached over to take his hands.

"You're not a creature. You're a wonderful man. And I stay because I like the way you laugh. I like the way you get rid of spiders for me and I like the way you make me feel safe all the time." Just the sound of her voice sent waves of warmth through Erik's chest. "Every time you smile at me, you make me want to be the lady that you think I am." A little grin crossed her face. "And you ate my crepes."

"They were wonderful."

"They were vile." Raising an eyebrow, she shook her head. "I should have dropped them into the fire. You just don't want to hurt my feelings." 

"Angelique," he began uncertainly, his soft voice causing her to lean a bit closer to him. The gentle, conversational way she was talking to him, coupled with the way that the firelight played on her face inspired a sudden burst of confidence. "Do you…think you could ever come to love a man like me?" Finally spoken, the words hung in the air like a cloud of smoke, and Erik shook his head before she even had a chance to answer. "Forgive me, I shouldn't have…"

"A man like you?" Angelique's eyes softened as she reached for his mask. Erik didn't protest when she removed it, then set it aside. Tenderly, she stroked his cheek with her fingertips as she gazed into his eyes. "I believe I already have."

"You…can't possibly mean…" With a solemn nod, Angelique leaned forward to gently kiss him on the cheek. Somehow, there was something different about her lips that night. Unbidden, tears began to fall over Erik's face. Looking a little worried, Angelique reached up and touched his cheek gently. 

"Erik…I'm sorry…I didn't mean to make you cry." Wiping his face with the sleeve of her dressing gown, she looked as if she were about to cry herself. 

"Forgive me," he managed through his tears. "I cannot help them. I simply…" Voice heavy with emotion, he reached up to touch her face. Pulling his hand away before he could touch her, Erik fumbled for his mask. He had a sudden need for her not to see him crying. Firmly, Angelique grabbed his wrist.

"I want to see your face. If you cry, I want to be able to wipe your tears away…even if they're my fault." For a moment, she was silent. Erik could see that her eyes were beginning to overflow with tears, and he let go of the mask to brush her cheek with his fingertips.

"Angelique…my precious angel. How could I ever deny you anything? You're the only truly good thing in my life. If you want to look upon my loathsome face, then I won't stop you." Finally, the tears spilled over onto her cheeks.

"I'm not an angel, Erik..." Tears as warm as summer rain fell over his fingers, and a small hand reached up to cover his hand. Her face was still so close to his, the scent of her perfume and her tears mingling together into a strangely beautiful fragrance, which he breathed of deeply. "To me, you could never be a mere creature. And I don't care if you think I'm nothing but a silly little fool…I love you." Though her words were nothing more than a whisper, they seemed to ring into infinity through the house. Before he even had a chance to respond, Angelique pulled his face down to hers and kissed him. 

At the moment her lips pressed softly against his, Erik's entire body tensed. He didn't know how to respond, it had been eight years since a woman had done such a thing. Rather awkwardly, he put his arms around her and pulled her as close as he possibly could. She felt so small in his arms, and Erik could feel her heart beating against his chest like a little bird's. It was a sensation he wanted to remember until the day he died. Everything felt so right, but Angelique looked up at him a little uncertainly as they parted. Her cheeks were bright with color, and she looked away from him.

"I'm sorry…I don't know what came over me." Trembling, Angelique couldn't believe what she had just done. It was possibly the most unladylike thing she had ever done, but Erik didn't seem to care. Gently, he tilted her face up to his. The flickering light made odd little shadows across his distorted features, and she wondered if she had always been capable of love this strong. "That was terribly forward of me…"

"My darling angel," he murmured softly as he looked into her eyes, "If I was ever unsure that I loved you before, I'm certain now." Leaning down a little, he kissed her once more, expressing to her in the clearest of terms that he was completely devoted to her, that he had been since the day they had met. 

Behind them, the fire burned ever brighter as it watched over the two people who seemed to have finally found one another. The minutes turned into hours, and even after the fire became nothing more than a few scattered embers in the hearth, Angelique and Erik sat together in reverent silence, content simply with the acknowledgement of each other's affection. Leaning happily against Erik's shoulder in front of the cooling fireplace, Angelique couldn't help but smile.

Surrounded by the silence of the house, she thanked her unknown mother for this one thing. This one perfect thing that she had no intention of ever giving up; the chance to love a man who she knew would love her for the rest of their lives just as passionately as he did at that moment. With this thought in her mind, Angelique fell asleep in a state of pure happiness.

Beside her, Erik contented himself with the feeling of her beloved figure pressing against his. There was nothing in the world that could compare with this moment. Reluctant to lose the warmth of her body, Erik carefully gathered the sleeping woman into his arms and carried her to bed.

As he walked down the hall to his room, he realized that her roses were still lying on her bedside table. Going back downstairs to fetch the vase, he laughed softly. Red roses. Perhaps one day he would tell her the legend after all.


	8. Toccata and Fugue

Toccata and Fugue

For a long moment, there was absolute silence in the study. Angelique hung over Erik's shoulder like the plague for a tense moment, holding her breath. Her tiny hands pressed against his arm, fingers curled in anticipation as she awaited his words. With a flourish, Erik placed the last fermata at the end of the page, completing the final orchestrations to Notre Dame de Paris.

Delighted, Angelique squeezed his arm as he wrote 'Fini' at the bottom of the page and smiled up at her. Leaning over, she threw her arms around him and hugged him as tightly as possible without cutting off his air.

"It's done! I can't believe it's finally done!" Laughing, she practically fell over the chair in an attempt to hug Erik tighter. Still unused to her impulsive acts of affection, Erik patted her back.

"Yes, it's finally done." Working together on the orchestrations, they had finished their opera in little more than six months. Erik was a little sad to see it finished, it felt almost as if it were their child. But now that it was done, all that was left was to show it to the managers and convince them to give it in their theatre. At the moment, though, Angelique seemed more interested in sitting next to Erik and smiling about the fact that they were finished.

"I don't know whether to laugh or cry," she commented. Straightening the pages, he looked up at her with a smile that equaled hers.

"Either way, I believe it is time for a well deserved break." Tying the sheets of music together, he stood up. "What would you like to do tonight?" In the recent months, they had been working on the music day and night, unable to bear being apart for too long, even for sleep.

"Absolutely nothing at all!" Laughing, Angelique put her arms around him and kissed his forehead. "I just want to sit around here and enjoy having absolutely nothing to do for a few days!"

"Then nothing it shall be, my sweet angel. We shall sit tonight and do nothing but read poetry and think of what a success our opera shall be!"

And so it was. Following another dinner of truly epic proportions, this time a tour of Russia, Angelique and Erik moved back into the study in order to go about doing nothing. Sitting together by the fireside, they passed the time drinking wine, reading Voltaire and the fables of Jean de la Fontaine. Erik read these works aloud as Angelique sipped her wine, and his melodious voice wove these beautiful tales into perfect little worlds of their own where animals and plants spoke as clearly as humans. Leaning against him as he spoke these words, Angelique sighed pleasantly.

For six lovely months it had been this way, and the blessed release of tension in the house felt as if it had been centuries in coming. Empires had fallen in the time they had wasted dancing around one another, but now they seemed completely at ease with one another and both parties hoped that it wouldn't end.

Somehow, for Erik, Angelique's kiss had reawakened something within him. When Christine (whom he hardly thought of anymore) had kissed him, then left with Raoul, it had caused him to retreat further into his darkness. Although he had asked, nearly begged, for her to leave with Raoul, the fact that she would kiss him so tenderly then leave was devastating. But now there was a wonderful woman sitting beside him, one who showed no signs of ever wanting to leave.

Lately, however, he noticed what seemed to be a hidden sensuality in everything she did. It was almost as if he had become hypersensitive to this fact. Just now, as she raised the glass to her lips, he noticed the lazy way she brought it to her face and pressed her awaiting mouth to the rim in an urgent kiss. A flicker of light glinted off the chalice as she tipped it slowly upwards so that the burgundy liquid rolled down the walls and towards her slightly parted lips. The wine slipped down her throat in a culmination of the kiss, and as she brought the glass back to her side she turned to Erik.

"Why did you stop reading?" Angelique's voice was warm with the wine, but miraculously it seemed to be the only effect that the liquor was having on her, regardless of the fact that she had been keeping pace with Erik all night, glass for glass. Clearing his throat, he picked up the book.

"My mind was…elsewhere." Noticing that her glass was empty, he picked up the bottle. "Would you care for more wine?"

"Certainly." Smiling, Angelique picked up the book as Erik refilled their glasses. "Can't we read something a little more mysterious?" Her cheeks were growing pink with the wine, and Erik turned to look at her.

"You don't care for M. Fontaine's fables?" An amused tone crept into his voice as he poured the last of the dark red liquid into his glass. "It appears we have already finished this bottle."

"Oh, have we?" Angelique watched as Erik slowly pulled himself up from the floor. "Where are you going?" 

"To fetch another bottle from the cellar. Would you like to select another book from the shelf while I'm gone?" Halfway out the door, he laughed softly. "Something a bit more mysterious?" As soon as his figure had passed from the doorway, Angelique got up and went over to the bookshelf. The whole thing was mostly filled with architectural books and poetry, and her face lit up as she found a book of Poe's short stories. Opening the book, she reclined before the fire again and picked up her last glass of wine. Swirling the drink about in the glass, she turned to her favorite story. Her eyes raced over the words of _Masque of the Red Death_, drinking in the irony as she drank the liquor, as she waited for Erik's return.

Before too long, he returned with a large bottle of wine in his hands. Angelique looked up from her story and smiled brightly at him, suddenly feeling a little dizzy from the last glass of wine.

"Welcome back," she said, holding up the book. "I've found my favorite story, shall I read it to you?"

"You wish to read to me?" Erik sat back down next to her and promptly refilled her glass. "I would love to hear you read aloud." As she began the story, he closed his eyes to fully savor the sound of her voice.

The words tumbled forth from her lips, painting the vivid pictures into his mind and drawing him deeper into the story. Somewhere at the edges of his memory, the picture of his magnificent Red Death costume at a ball nearly a decade earlier lingered, causing a smile to play on his lips as he remembered the silence that had immediately overthrown the roomful of people. It truly had been a magnificent costume. In the background of this memory was Angelique's beautiful voice, turning Poe's story into a hypnotic song. All too soon it was over, and she turned to him.

"Shall I read another?"

"By all means, yes. I don't believe I could ever tire of listening to you read." With a smile, Angelique turned to the back of the book and began reading from 'Annabelle Lee.' The haunting words of the poem, about a man's loss of his beautiful young love stolen from him by the jealousy of the heavens, hit a little too close to home for Erik's comfort. Angelique felt him stiffen.

"You don't like this one?" There was no answer from the man sitting beside her, and she turned the page. "Let's see…'Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary…'" Several times during the poem Angelique almost laughed out loud, but managed somehow to stifle the laughter. The wine continued to flow freely, and by the time the poem was finished, Erik was finishing his glass of wine. Angelique closed the book with a thump. "Goodness, what a dreadful little poem that was!"

"I'm afraid I'm inclined to agree with you," he said, picking up the bottle to pour himself another glass. Angelique set the book on the ground nearby.

"It certainly won't go down in any history books," she remarked sourly, finishing her own wine and holding the glass out to Erik for a refill. Nothing came forth from the mouth of the bottle, and Angelique cocked her head at it. "Hm. It appears that we've done it again." 

"Yes. I'm quite surprised that neither of us are completely potted yet." As he watched, Angelique stood up and wobbled her way toward the cabinet where Erik kept the strong liquor.

"Speak for yourself," she said with a giggle as she opened the cabinet and surveyed the contents. "Those words were beginning to float around on the page for a moment back there."

"Then why are you in my liquor cabinet?" Laughing, Erik stood up from his place by the fire. Observing with some dismay that he was also beginning to feel a bit lightheaded, he went towards her.

"Because I can still walk straight." With a silly smile, Angelique attempted to demonstrate just how straight she was able to walk, and Erik intercepted her halfway. Taking her into his arms, he kissed her on the forehead.

"My dear, there was nothing straight about the way you walked." Motioning upwards, he smiled. "Would you like to go up and see the Jardin de Tuileries? You mentioned it the other day."

"Really?" A few weeks earlier, Angelique had read a book that mentioned the architecture of Paris and had seen a picture of Tuileries. After that, she had told Erik about the time when her parents took her to see the Jardin when she was younger. Ever since he had told her about her birth mother, she had taken to talking on and on about her adopted parents. That night, she had expressed a slight desire to see it again but had never made any time to go up and see it. "Are you sure?"

"Of course." Taking her hand, Erik pulled her downstairs. The more she moved, the dizzier Angelique felt, but when they emerged into the cool air outside his house, she felt a little steadier. Erik got into the boat first and arranged the pillows for her. Holding a hand out for Angelique, he smiled broadly. "Come along, my dear." She took his hand and stepped into the boat. The unsteadiness of the boat, coupled with her unsure legs caused her to trip as she stepped down into the craft. Falling into Erik's arms, she blushed a little as she felt her body pressing against his. For a moment, he looked as if he wanted to say something, but didn't.

"Sorry," Angelique said softly, biting her lip. "I think the wine is finally affecting me a little bit."

"Happens to the best of us," Erik responded easily, setting her onto the pillows. "I hear that the Tuileries are beautiful at night." The smoothness with which he changed the subject was amazing, and no mention was made of the way their bodies had touched. The boat slowly made its way towards the Rue Scribe.

* * *

"How beautiful the Jardin is at night!" Spreading her arms wide, Angelique threw her head back to look at the starry sky. Marred by a few drifting clouds, the heavens were wildly spattered with stars, reminding her of the belief that the sky was nothing but a bowl put over the earth with hundreds of tiny pinpricks in it. Still a bit dizzy with the wine, she twirled around in the moonlight while Erik sat on a nearby bench like a statue. "Erik, look up at the sky!"

"It is quite nice, isn't it?" Absently, he looked into the sky. Something was gnawing at the corners of his mind, but he wasn't exactly sure what it was. It felt important, but with the excitement over the completion of the opera and the wine that seemed to be having a delayed reaction on his mind, he couldn't figure out what it was. A moment later, Angelique plopped down beside him with a smile.

"What are you thinking?" She asked, leaning her head on his shoulder gently. Turning slowly to her, he returned her smile. 

"I keep feeling as if I have forgotten something." To this, Angelique nodded slowly. The night was unseasonably cool for the beginning of summer and a breeze blew over the Jardin, rippling the black waters of the pond gently. The moon's light cast sparkling ghosts over the water, tiny spirits which shimmered and danced before Angelique's eyes. It wasn't exactly a wind, but it was strong enough to blow her hair back from her face with a surprising force. Her body felt warm with the influence of the liquor they had drank before leaving, and the breeze was a welcome visitor. Looking over at Erik, she wondered if he had ever felt the wind's gentle caress on his bare face. 

"This breeze is wonderful, darling," she murmured softly, touching his hand. "You should feel it." He didn't answer, and Angelique reached over to gently remove his mask. Not a single word of protest escaped his lips as she did so, and as the wind arose once more, Erik closed his eyes to feel it. It was indeed one of the most comforting sensations he had ever felt, although he didn't know why. He couldn't remember one time in his life that he had ever been able to feel a soft breeze over his unmasked face. Angelique leaned over to place a tender kiss on his cheek, then smiled. "I'm so glad we came up here."

"Yes. I can think of nothing more beautiful than seeing your face in the moonlight. Sometimes I wonder if it isn't cruel of me to keep you down below the ground with me when you should be up here, seeing the moon as well as the stars and sun and rain." His musings caused Angelique to shake her head forcefully.

"Cruel? If it is cruel to allow a woman to stay with the man that she loves, then by all means, be as barbaric as possible!" Grabbing his hand, Angelique pulled him off the bench. The force of the wine in her system threatened to tip them both into the pool at the center of the Tuileries, but Erik's weight kept them upright.

"Where are we going now?" Reaching back to grab his mask, Erik followed her to the street which ran near the Jardin de Tuileries. As they approached the well-lit street, he pressed the mask back into place before they actually made it to the boulevard. Angelique pointed up at the horizon of the city.

"Look…the Arc de Triomphe is so beautiful from here!" Her slender finger was like a beacon towards the thing, and Erik nodded.

"Yes, it is one of the pieces of architecture in this city that…" Just as he was about to say something, a droplet of rain plopped unceremoniously onto his mask. Looking into the sky, Erik was the first to get hit full force by the downpour.

"Rain?" Uncomprehending, Angelique looked up into the falling rain. "Why did it have to go and rain now?" As if answering her question, it began to rain harder. Sobered up immediately by the needle-like spray of rain, Erik grabbed Angelique's hand and pulled her urgently towards the main street where several broughams were waiting for customers to come along.

"Come along, dear, before you catch cold."

"But it's warm!" Laughing, Angelique allowed him to pull her as the warm drops of rain soaked through her dress and wet her skin. "Why are we running from water?"

"Because I'm an old, impatient man and I don't wish to walk around in the rain like some moon-eyed dandy with his lady friend. We can take a cab to the Rue Scribe." There was a bit of a laugh in Erik's voice as they hurried, and Angelique sighed.

"What if I told you that you were a moon-eyed dandy?" They had reached the neatly lined broughams, and he pushed her into one with a snort of laughter. Erik slammed the cab's door behind her.

"If I were a dandy at any time in my life, I should think I would be the first to know it." Shaking some of the water from his jacket, Erik looked over at her with a shake of his head. "Isn't there an age limit for dandies?" It took him a moment to realize that there was another person in the cab with them, and he turned to ask them to vacate his brougham. As he did, Erik noticed that it wasn't just anyone in their cab. The man smiled a bit at the couple as he shook his head.

"Good evening, Erik."

"Nadir Khan! You do have a dreadful habit of popping up in other people's cabs, don't you?" Angelique looked confused as they began to speak to one another in an odd mixture of Persian and French, and Erik took her hand. "I would like you to meet my dear lady friend Angelique. We were having a lovely walk before this rain began."

"Pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle." Nadir bowed a little to her, then looked at Erik. "Have you been drinking?"

"A bit, daroga. We were celebrating the completion of our opera!" This was spoken quite grandly, and Angelique smiled. They had started talking in French again, to her happiness.

"An opera? Do you mean that she lives with you?" At once, a look of alarm came over Nadir's face, and Erik nodded complacently. "But--" 

"Are we going somewhere or are we going to sit here all night and chat?" The driver turned and gave the three people a look, disregarding Erik's mask. 

"Of course," Nadir said, regaining some composure. He gave the driver the address of his home, then sat back and watched what Erik was doing. At that moment, he seemed to be fussing over Angelique's wet hair and clothes.

"I shall not catch a cold," she was protesting noisily, and Erik reached up to push her dripping hair out of her face. "Erik, I am a grown woman…"

"Forgive me for worrying," the masked man replied, still fiddling with her hair. "But you do look a sight with that hair in your face." This went on until they reached Nadir's flat, and Erik helped Angelique out of the brougham while Nadir paid the fare. Walking another few meters in the rain only made her hair wetter than before, and they stepped into the flat, Angelique looked down at herself.

"Good heavens, haven't I gained weight!" The wet dress was clinging to her body, and she sighed. "Botticelli would have had fun with me." 

"He would have done nothing of the sort," Erik said, as Nadir handed her a towel. "Why don't you dry yourself off while we talk?"

"Certainly. Then maybe I can make you both some tea," she said huffily as Darius, Nadir's manservant, showed her to the bath room. Once she was gone, Nadir and Erik sat in the study to talk.

"I waited several hours for you, Erik. Had you forgotten our appointment?" The smaller man looked over at Erik, who shrugged unaffectedly.

"Perhaps it was the wine. Besides, daroga, you have nothing to worry about. We've been so preoccupied with that opera that I haven't had time to break my promise to you." Darius brought them some warm tea, which Erik accepted.

"Tell me more about this opera," Nadir said, a little guardedly. Nodding, Erik set his teacup aside. "Is she truly helping you write it?"

"My dear friend, she is writing the music on her own. I am simply helping her with the lyrics and arrangements." Changing his mind, Erik picked up the teacup and sipped a bit of the warm liquid. "And before you even think to ask it, she is staying with me of her own free will. Her door is unbolted, her mind is clear. There is nothing keeping her with me, aside from her own…affection for me." It sounded as if even he didn't believe what he was saying, and Nadir gave him a close look.

"Are you certain, Erik?" Before they had a chance to say anything else, Angelique appeared in the doorway, braiding her long dark hair. Finishing the braid as she walked across the room, she lay the wet rope of hair over her shoulder and placed a gentle hand on Erik's shoulder.

"What a nice little flat you have here, M. Khan," Angelique remarked as she looked around. Smiling over at Nadir, she perched herself on the arm of the chair and put an arm protectively over Erik's shoulders. It was an odd little habit she had sometimes, but comforting, and Erik gave Nadir a pointed smile. "Do you suppose I could get a bit of that lovely tea?"

"Of course! Where are my manners!" Calling for Darius, he informed the man that their lady guest would like some tea. While he was talking to his retainer, Angelique noticed the smell of the apartment was very much like that of Erik's house. It was nice, and she closed her eyes for a moment as she noticed it. "So, Mademoiselle, Erik tells me that you two are working on an opera together?"

"Yes," Angelique said with a smile as Darius reappeared with her tea. She thanked him politely, then sipped at it. "Shall I tell you a bit about it?"

* * *

"What a nice time," Angelique remarked as they entered the house on the lake again. "I'm quite fond of your friend." She was dying to get out of her wet clothes, and Erik nodded.

"Yes, Nadir is the only person I believe I can safely consider a friend." They ascended the stairs together, lingering a moment near Angelique's doorway. "Are you going tomorrow to try and pitch the opera to those ridiculous managers?"

"Unfortunately, yes. And to be completely honest with you, I'm quite nervous about it. They've turned me down so many times before…" Not allowing her to finish the sentence, Erik kissed her forehead.

"Please try not to worry about it tonight, dearest. I shall be beside you tomorrow, if naught but in spirit." With a loving gaze at her delicate features, he smiled. "Now get out of those wet clothes before you really do catch cold. Especially down here." With that, he started down the hall to his room. "Good night, my dear."

"Good night, Erik." Disappearing into her room, Angelique took off the dress with some difficulty. It seemed to have molded itself to her body, and it took some wriggling before she was able to get it onto the floor. Hanging it over the edge of the bathtub, she hoped that it would dry properly as she put on her nightgown and robe. Nearly all of the wine's delicious dizziness had left her, and she lay back on the bed. Sometimes she half wished that Erik would sleep with her in the same room, but just as she did tonight, she pushed the thoughts from her mind. What kind of woman thought those sorts of things?

Slipping out of her clothes and into her nightgown, Angelique crawled into her bed and looked up at the ceiling. At least she knew where Erik went sometime during the month, and it was good to know that he had a friend. 

Although she didn't want to tell him, Angelique was quite glad that the opera was finished. In the past months, she had wanted so much to spend more time with Erik, to talk to him about their lives before they had met one another. But they both were so obsessed with finishing the opera and making it just right that they both had almost forgotten that there was another person in the house. 

While they were having dinner, Erik had agreed with her that it would probably be a good idea for her to take the opera up to the managers the next day, while all its best features were still fresh in her mind. As she lay in bed, Angelique planned out what she was going to wear the next day. Something pretty, but mature enough so that they would know she was completely serious about it. And of course she would fix her hair, it would be nicer that way.

With a sigh, she wished that Erik would join her. But she knew that he wouldn't go up to the surface unless it was nighttime or he had business with the managers. And as he had told her a few weeks earlier, she couldn't rely on him for everything. After all, he wasn't going to be around forever, and at his age he had to think of every possible direction life could go. Angelique had shushed him immediately, informing him firmly that it was bad luck to be so negative. This had caused Erik to laugh, and they had gone on with the second act of the opera. But it left a little worried place in Angelique's mind.

Sometimes it was easy to forget that he was so much older than she was, but since Angelique didn't really think age had anything to do with love, whenever she did think about it, she pushed it out of her mind. The very thought of being without Erik made her feel nervous, and she pulled the comforter over her head. She wasn't going to think about that right now. The most important thing was that to try and get some sleep. After all, nothing was going to happen to Erik and tomorrow was very important.

Hoping that the managers would see the opera as she and Erik did, Angelique closed her eyes. Everything would turn out all right, she knew it.

* * *

Stomach fluttering nervously as she clutched the nicely bound score of the opera to her chest, Angelique looked up at the grand staircase. It seemed to go on forever, steps coated with silky red carpet yawning into eternity before her, and she didn't remember the staircase being quite so long.

Looking around for a moment to delay the inevitable, she noticed that the ceramic ornaments around the great hall had been replaced since the night Erik threw his temper tantrum in the theatre. The memory was fading a little, but she still remembered the feeling of his hand across her face, as well as the kiss they had shared later that night. Smiling a little, she took a deep breath and started up the stairs.

Since the last time she had been in the theatre, the office had been moved upstairs. This was something she would have to inform Erik of. Of course, she thought, he probably already knew, he knew everything about the theatre. But he hadn't picked up his salary this month, and perhaps he didn't know.

Her whole train of thought felt like nothing more than a diversion to keep her mind off the unpleasantness she was certain was going to occur at the top of the stairs, and Angelique continued with it. Anything to keep her breakfast in place.

To the few people who actually were in the theatre, Angelique was showing no signs of nervousness. Her hair was arranged beautifully on the top of her head, in a regal and ladylike style that she and Erik had somehow managed to concoct that morning. Before she left Angelique had been unsure about how it would look, but after checking herself in the powder room, she decided she was rather pleased with the outcome. Her dress was a fashionable style in dark green, and the entire effect of this was to make her look about five years older than she was. They had both hoped that this would serve to make the managers more receptive to the opera. So far, so good, as no one around the opera house had recognized her. Several men had already tipped their hats at her, and as she approached the top of the stairs, she took a deep breath and hoped that the managers would be as kind.

The door to the managers' office loomed before her, and Angelique swallowed hard as she examined the sign on the door. **Messieurs Montcharmin et Richard.** Quite nervously, she reached toward the door. Reprimanding herself silently, Angelique wondered why she was being so nervous about this. The managers had always annoyed her to no end, but they had never made her so fidgety.

Clearing her mind of everything but Erik's words, Angelique reached out and knocked on the door. At first no one came, and she was afraid that they weren't inside. But a moment later, the heavy wooden door swung inward. Putting on her nicest smile, Angelique stepped inside and hoped for the best.

* * *

Only slightly perturbed at the silence that had overtaken the house with Angelique's departure, Erik sat at his organ playing around with the notes. His music echoed through the house, but having no one to hear it made the aria seem a bit empty. He hadn't realized just how used to having her around he had gotten, and now that she wasn't there he began to wonder just how he had gotten along without her.

Nadir's questions the night before made him wonder about just how much he trusted Angelique to stay with him of her own free will, and had immediately come to the decision that he trusted her. He loved her so much that he couldn't bear to think of losing her. Even though it was always a possibility, and even though it hurt to put so much trust in a woman who was…human. Although he tended to put her up on a pedestal, set standards for her that no normal person could even hope to achieve, she was still undeniably human. But she had proven more than once that she wasn't just going to leave him without a word, so he wasn't exactly sure why he was so worried about her leaving the house. After all, she was just going up to the opera house.

Before she had left, Erik had just about been able to see the tension radiating from her body. This opera meant so much to her, he didn't think she could stand hearing it being torn apart by those idiots who didn't know much more about music than a major scale. If that. He hoped, if nothing else, that they would be halfway civil to her.

Pulling out his sketches, Erik looked over the pictures. With the opera taking up almost all of their time, he hadn't had much opportunity to make any others. As far as he was concerned, though, his favorite was still the angel picture. Lately, when he had been looking at it, he wondered how it would look rendered in oils. He hadn't tried a painting before, at least not that he could remember, and thought that it might be a nice addition to his room. It had been much too long since he had put something new in his room, and a picture of Angelique would be perfect. That way she would be the first thing he saw in the morning and at night.

Taking another look at the shading in the picture, he decided that the more he looked at it, the more he liked the idea of a painting. Her face would look radiant with the color added to her cheeks, and there were several different shades of white that would make the feathers seem almost lifelike.

Erik was so lost in thought that he almost didn't hear the door slam downstairs, followed by Angelique's running footsteps. They passed his door and faded into her room, ending abruptly with the slamming of her own door. Frowning, Erik stood up and moved towards the door, the drawings still in his hands. A moment later, the sound of crying came to his sharp ears.

Completely forgetting that the drawings were in his hand, Erik hurried into the hallway and knocked on her door loudly. There was no answer, and he knocked again a little louder. This time, the crying just got louder, and Erik pushed open the door without another thought.

"Angelique, what's happened?" She had flung herself across the bed, facedown, and was crying as if her heart had broken in half. Sitting next to her and allowing the drawings to slip from between his fingers, Erik patted her back gently. "I can't do a thing about it if you won't talk to me."

"They were so mean…" Not looking up at him, she cried into her pillow, which was clutched tightly to her chest. "It's not like I was asking them to rebuild the theatre, just look at our opera. But they wouldn't even do that. They…" Starting to cry all over again, Angelique pressed her face into her pillow. Afraid that she would smother herself, Erik pulled the pillow away from her.

"My poor dear. I should have known they would do something like this. Forgive me for sending you up there by yourself." It was quite a job to get her into his lap, but somehow he managed it. Sniffling, Angelique lay her head on his shoulder and tried to stop crying for his sake. "Here, let me find you a handkerchief. That sniffling has to be the most irritating sound in the world."

"I don't care," she grumbled, curling herself into a little ball on his lap. "I'll sniffle if I want."

"Well I do care." Reaching into his pocket, Erik handed her a plain man's handkerchief. Resisting the urge to ask what he used them for, she accepted it and wiped her face. "And I shall go up there right away and tell them exactly what I think of them for treating a lady in such a way." Looking around, he frowned. "Where is the score?"

"On my dresser. Stupid Notre Dame. Whatever possessed us to write this piece of junk anyway?" No sooner had she spoken the words than Erik snatched her chin and forced her little red face up to look into his eyes. His usually gentle hands grasped her face firmly, and she wriggled around a little.

"If I ever hear you say anything like that about our opera again, I shall become quite unhappy with you. You know as well as I that the music in that booklet is the greatest opera known to man, and I won't allow you to berate it just because the managers have put you in a foul mood." His eyes were glittering with rage aimed at both her and the managers, and Angelique struggled to break free of his grasp. A moment later, he leaned down to kiss her rather roughly. The angry scowl on her face disappeared as soon as he pressed his lips to hers, and she smiled. "Now, we are going to march back up there and demand that they examine our opera just as carefully as if it were one of Verdi's own." Noticing the drawings that were on the floor, Erik leaned over to pick them up. Angelique frowned as she looked at him.

"What are those?"

"Just some sketches I have been working on," he replied nonchalantly. Interested, Angelique leaned over to look at them. "Come along, let's repair your hair before we go up to the opera house. It won't do to have you looking like you've been crying."

"I want to see the drawings," Angelique insisted, closing her hand around the edges of the pictures. Reluctantly, Erik relinquished them to her, awaiting her reaction. "These are…of me?" Sorting through them carefully, Angelique looked up at him in disbelief. "They're so beautiful! I can't believe it!"

"That I could draw such a lovely picture?" Sounding rather surprised, Erik looked over at her, but she was still focused on the drawings.

"No, that you spent so much time drawing pictures of me." Tipping her face up a little to kiss him on the cheek, Angelique shook her head. "You managed to make me look so beautiful."

"Although I would dearly love to take credit for that, I'm afraid I could never be responsible for such a thing. You are already much too beautiful." Pleased that she had stopped crying, Erik stood up. "Now come along. We have no time to waste." Setting the drawings aside, Angelique got up and went for her hairbrush. Once she was satisfied that she looked nice again, she straightened the wrinkles out of her dress and followed him out of the house to the dock.

* * *

Thirty minutes and rather a lot of yelling later, the managers were sitting together at the writing desk of the main office poring over the score of _Notre Dame de Paris_. Although they were not pleased to be doing so, MM Firmin and Andre sat before the score, waiting for the other to finish the page. However, it was not terribly easy to concentrate on a score when a large man dressed in black is looming behind you. Not to mention the fact that MM Andre and Firmin knew about as much about music as the bushmen of New Guinea. But still, they read it while Erik amused Angelique with several small feats of legerdemain. 

After a pause, M Firmin turned to M Andre after checking that Erik was still in the middle of his parlor tricks.

"Andre, as much as I hate to admit it, I think this opera may actually be a winner." He flipped the page. "I don't know much about music, but perhaps we'd better let M Reyer look at it before we make any judgements."

"That is a splendid idea," Erik remarked, popping up behind them. Firmin looked as if he were about to have a heart attack at this sudden movement, and Erik smiled. "Why don't you take it to him right away?"

"But he is in the middle of…" Andre was interrupted by a voice that was all too familiar to him and his associate.

"RIGHT AWAY." Once that tone had come into Erik's voice there was no arguing, and the managers picked up the score and hurried downstairs to the rehearsal hall. With a smile, Erik turned to Angelique. "That's done, then."

"What do you mean?" Looking confused, she leaned against the desk. Erik motioned for her to come with him, and they walked down the grand staircase. No one was in sight, so he didn't seem bothered by the fact that they were wandering around the opera house in the middle of the day.

"How clever of them to move the office up to where they knew I didn't have a passageway. But really, if they think that's all it's going to take to stop me, they are seriously mistaken." Leading her into the old office, Erik kissed her forehead. "I believe this is up to you now."

"You're leaving?" Panic overtook Angelique's face at once, and he nodded as he opened the wall before her eyes.

"There is no other need for me to be here right now. I have perfect confidence in your abilities to handle the situation now. All they needed was a little prodding." The look on his face told Angelique that he did indeed trust her with this, and although she didn't want to see him go, she couldn't help but feel a little proud. 

"That they do," she said, trying to keep the grin out of her voice. "Who is M Reyer, though?"

"M Reyer is the stage director. He has been with this opera company since it opened, and he knows perfectly well that all it takes to prevent a tragedy is compliance with my orders. I have no doubt, however, that being a reasonable and fair man, he will see the musical value of the work right away." Stepping into the passageway, Erik suddenly looked as if he remembered something.

"Something wrong?" Hoping that he had forgotten something so that he would stay with her, Angelique leaned closer to him.

"Tell them to have our box reserved without fail for the opening of our opera. I wouldn't want them to lose any more fine knick-knacks over such a trivial thing." With a small grin, the passage began to close. "I shall see you at home."

"Until then," she said absently. The wall closed tightly behind him, and Angelique slowly turned to walk back upstairs. There was quite a commotion coming from the rehearsal hall, and she started up the grand staircase slowly. If they wanted to talk to her, they could come to her.

And it wasn't too long before they did come to her. No sooner had she taken a seat before the managers' desk than the door burst open and spilled forth MM Firmin, Andre and Reyer. This time, Reyer was in front, waving the score.

"Where is he? I would know Erik's touch anywhere!" There was a huge grin on the face of the director, and MM Firmin and Andre looked around.

"He was in here a moment ago," M Firmin said, confused. Pointedly, he looked at the sitting Angelique. "Perhaps his lover knows?"

"Don't be vulgar," Angelique said, trying to keep the wishful tone out of her voice. "He had other matters to attend to that were more important than you." Turning her attention to M Reyer, she smiled. "However, Monsieur, I did write the music for that opera if you would like to talk to me about it."

"Certainly, my dear girl! Come downstairs to the rehearsal hall so we can put it into action right away! I would be doing the world quite a disservice to let this piece sit about on the desk any longer." At this, Angelique turned to toss a look at the managers who had turned her music down on more than one occasion. Leading her towards the door, M Reyer smiled. "You're quite lucky, Mademoiselle, not just anyone is lucky enough to be able to work alongside Erik." Their voices faded as they walked down the stairs, and MM Firmin and Andre looked at one another. 

"We are getting much too old for this," M Firmin remarked wearily, and M Andre nodded his assent. A small, dark head popped in the door a moment later, smiling.

"By the way, Erik asks that you remember to keep our private box open for the opening night of our opera." Still smiling in a disgustingly sweet fashion, she waved. Just when they thought she was gone for good, she looked back into the office with a smirk. "Oh yes, and we're expecting his _full_ salary this month again. Please try not to forget, or something terribly unpleasant may happen." Closing the door as she left, the managers could hear her voice calling to M Reyer and telling him that she was coming. 

With a deep sigh, both men stared at the closed door. Complete silence filled the office, and it was a while before they spoke. M Andre was the first to speak again, his voice laden with exhaustion.

"Much too old."

* * *

Laughing like a child, Angelique ran down the stairs to go into the passage which Erik had showed her in the third cellar. Finding the proper stone to depress, she opened the passage and started down to the lake. Angelique was finding it terribly hard to control her happiness as she ran, and she wondered offhandedly why she hadn't just gone to see M Reyer in the first place. 

The praise he had heaped onto her for her arrangements and music was almost too much to handle, and she was bursting with pride. No one besides Erik had ever complimented her music, making her feel as if he were the only one who even cared that she was writing any music at all. But now that someone else, someone who didn't live with her, liked her music. And as much as she loved him, Angelique always worried that Erik was just a tad bit biased.

Even the ride across the lake didn't seem so long, and she amused herself by singing a few happy arias from the opera. Though her voice wasn't professionally trained or anywhere near operatic, she still amused herself by trying to hum along with the music she had written in her head.

So excited about the opera that she couldn't quite fit the key into the lock, Angelique finally managed to get into the house with a happy smile. Running up the stairs, she was certain she sounded like an entire herd of elephants, but at that moment she could have cared less.

Erupting into Erik's room like a miniature volcano on the edge of ruining an entire city, she stood in the doorway as he turned to her.

"Can I assume from all the noise you made coming in that our opera has been picked up by the Opera Populaire?" There was a smile on his face that told her he had known all along, and she nodded.

"You'll never guess how much M Reyer offered me for it, either!" Proceeding to tell him all about it, Angelique was rather amused to see Erik's eyes widen slightly at the figure of money which they both knew was extravagant, even by the opera standards.

"The managers agreed to pay that much?"  
"Yes, it was magnificent! M Reyer said he would walk out if they didn't pick it up at this price, and M Firmin said that the cheque would be in with your regular salary this month!" Throwing her arms around him, she laughed again. "Isn't this wonderful?"

"Indeed, my dear, it is. When will our opera be opening?" Making a point of emphasizing the word 'our,' Erik stood up and started towards the study. Angelique slipped her hand into his gently and followed him.

"Just over a month. They said that we could expect it to be finished by mid August, and that our box would be reserved as always." Still laughing, she looked at him. "This is the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me."

"I find that hard to believe, my angel." Pouring her a glass of wine, Erik held up his glass to hers. "I propose a small toast." To this, Angelique raised her glass. She couldn't believe that they weren't hung over from the night before, but they weren't.

"To what do you propose this toast?"

"To the opera. May it never fade from the memory and heart of the people of the world, and may it bring in a great deal of money for those mercenary bastards that run my theatre!" This made Angelique laugh out loud, nearly spilling her drink.

"To the opera!" With a smile, the two glasses clinked against one another, and Erik surreptitiously slipped his hand into his pocket. His long fingers brushed against a rather small object, and for a moment he thought about making a present of it at that very moment, but decided against it.

After all, good things come to those who wait.


	9. Those Who Wait

Those Who Wait

The Paris Opera House was alive with excitement that night, so much in fact that one might have thought that it could be attributed to the arrival of some royal personage. Carpets had been cleaned, the chandelier polished, even all the curtains freshly laundered and ironed for the occasion.

Messieurs Andre and Firmin were hurrying back and forth between the rehearsal hall and the main hall, making last minute checks of all the sets and costumes, fussing over the diva's voice. They were the reason for this bustle, for that night _Notre Dame de Paris_ was to be given for the first time on any stage. But it wasn't the opera itself, nor Erik's threats of tragedy that excited them, it was the fact that there was a leak in the opera house's hierarchy. 

Somehow someone in the press had gotten hold of the singular fact that the opera that was to be given that night was written in part by the Phantom of the Opera, a man rumored to be long since dead. As soon as this had hit the papers, rich patrons had scrambled to the Opera House, offering donations for the production. Tickets had been sold out for the premiere since the day it had been announced they were on sale, and to be in the boxes that night was a special honor reserved only for the richest of the rich in Paris. All except Box Five, that was.

While the managers were making sure that the chandelier was perfectly shined, one of the future inhabitants of Box Five was on the main street selecting a new evening dress. Angelique was so excited that she could hardy stand it. Everything in her body wanted to run down the street to the Opera Populaire as fast as she could to see how the preparations were coming. But somehow she managed to control herself and select a lovely new dress for that night.

Leaving the dress shop, Angelique ran down the street to look for some new shoes and a hat for that night. As she did, she ran headlong into a man she recognized at once from years back. Angelique grinned.

"Monsieur de Chagny! How long has it been since I've seen you?" Cheerily, she shifted the box from one arm to the other. The man looked at her oddly.

"Have we met?" 

"I'm not surprised you don't remember me," Angelique said with a smile. "I haven't seen you in about eight years or so." Holding out a little hand, she shifted the packages again. "Mlle Angelique DuBain."

"The girl from the theatre?" M de Chagny laughed. "You look quite different these days, Mademoiselle! I hope I find you well."

"Yes, as a matter of fact our opera is opening tonight at the Populaire." Not realizing that she would have to explain her words, Angelique was smiling brightly as she tried to shift her packages one more time.

"Our opera?" M de Chagny looked a bit confused, and she nodded. 

"_Notre Dame de Paris_. Have you heard about it?" The packages were starting to get heavier in her arms, and she sighed. M de Chagny looked interested, and she noticed that he was just as good-looking as ever.

"Why of course I have! Right now it's the talk of the town." Realizing that he was being rude to her by not offering his help, M de Chagny held out his hands. "Mlle DuBain, will you allow me the pleasure of giving you a ride to your destination? You look almost ready to fall over under the weight of those packages."

"Thank you so much, monsieur." Not wasting a moment, Angelique followed M de Chagny to his brougham and allowed him to place her things into the seat. Grateful for the ride, Angelique allowed M de Chagny to help her into the brougham. His hands were almost as strong as Erik's, and she sat down on the velvety seat. Climbing in after her, he made it a point to sit across from her in a truly gentlemanly fashion. Although she knew he couldn't be over thirty, he seemed so young somehow. 

"So, where are you off to?" He seemed as if he wanted to ask her something else, and Angelique cocked her head. Not wanting to lead him to the Rue Scribe, she described to him a place near the Rue, yet not quite there. Nodding, he smiled. "Of course, I shall have my driver take you there right away."

"Thank you again," she said with a smile as he relayed this info to the driver up in the front. M de Chagny turned back to her.

"Now, please tell me a bit more about this opera! The papers all say that it was written by the Phantom of the Opera."

"Mm." Giving him a sort of non-committal murmur, Angelique looked rather unsure of what to say to him about the things in the paper. The man smiled at her a bit wider, but more gently than before.

"How is Erik, anyway?" The moment the words were spoken, Angelique's head popped up from where she was staring at her hands.

"M de Chagny! How do you know Erik? Eyes widening, she twisted the fabric of her dress between her fingers nervously. M de Chagny laughed gently and patted her hand with a smile.

"Please, call me Raoul. Erik was a rather...close friend of my wife. She speaks of him quite often when we are at home." There was a wistful tone in his voice that Angelique decided not to comment on as he stared out the window. "He is quite a man, is he not?"

"I...I most certainly wouldn't know what you're talking about!" Blushing brightly, she looked back down into her lap. Raoul smiled again.

"But you do care for him."

"A great deal, Monsieur!" She received an odd look, and smiled. "...Raoul." After another long moment, she began to fidget with her dress once more. "I do love him...so very much."

"He seems to have that power over women," Raoul remarked, still looking out the window. "Is that why you wrote the opera?"

"No, we wrote it together. I've always wanted to put together something with music, that was so grand and beautiful that only true lovers of music could understand it. It's a bit...a bit like a child, really. He understood my desire to create something, and fueled it with his own. And we've both loved it so much that an entire grand opera came from just a little idea for an aria." A gentle light was shining in her blue eyes, and Raoul smiled. There was no question in his mind why Erik loved her. "But I've loved him since the first night I heard his voice."

"That's wonderful," murmured Raoul, somewhat in awe of the love she displayed towards Erik. He reached over to take her hands gingerly. "And his face…it doesn't…"

"Frighten me? On the contrary, I prefer that he keep the mask off when we're at home alone. There's a wonderful man behind that mask, but everyone else is just too involved with looking at his outward appearance that they don't bother to look into his heart. His intentions are good…but sometimes he just get expresses them the wrong way." Now her eyes were staring into the distance. "I'm actually more afraid that he might one day ask me to go away from him." Remembering the night Erik had asked Christine to leave with Raoul, he felt his stomach do a somersault.

"Surely, mademoiselle, you must realize that he is a great deal older than yourself." Concerned for the best interests of the little girl he had 'rescued' from the managers so many years previous, Raoul couldn't help wondering if she understood the full ramifications of what she was doing.

"Of course. But I don't see what that has to do with anything at all." Biting back her words, she sighed. She hadn't meant to sound so defensive, but it was indeed a touchy bit of information with her. The thought that Erik might leave her life sooner than she wanted was more than a little worrying, and she tried not to think about it.

"Nothing at all, mademoiselle. After all, which of us can choose when or whom we will love? But what should you do if something were to happen to him?" The concern in his voice was apparent, and his voice was softer than before. "We're headed for the Rue Scribe, I suppose this means you live with him."

"Please, Raoul, don't get any strange ideas! It's not like that at all!" Once again, her body betrayed the emotions she was attempting to keep bottled inside, sending a fierce rush of color to her cheeks.

"I'm sure I wasn't implying anything. You seem to be a very nice girl, and Erik has, well, usually, been a gentleman…in the time I've known him anyway." A memory from years ago of Raoul's nice smile resurfaced as he directed it at her again, and Angelique tried to think of something to say to him.

"How did your wife meet Erik?" The question was nosier than she had meant, and Raoul laughed softly, wistfully.

"Years ago, I believe around the time I first met you, in fact, Erik was in love with the woman who is presently my wife. He did everything in his power to make her love him, and I believe in the end that she truly did love him. But he told her to go with me, because he knew she cared for me and I for her. Sometimes, though, I wonder if she left because Erik told her to, and not because she really wanted to." Fetching a deep sigh from the depths of his soul, Raoul looked out the window. Angelique cocked her head at him, trying to realize the full effect of what he was saying.

"Where is your wife now?" Her question seemed to brighten him up a bit, and he turned back to her from the mirror.

"Christine is at home at the moment. I didn't think it was proper for her to travel, in her condition…but she was so sad, she wanted to see the new opera." Shaking his head, Raoul looked at Angelique. "Also, I am still a patron of the theatre. I was there dropping off some…funds for the performance." He seemed happier now, and Angelique grinned brightly.

"Do you mean to say that you are expecting a child?" The nod was all she needed to make her squeal with delight. "How lucky for you!" The brougham approached Angelique's aforementioned drop point, but it passed by without a thought. Angelique noticed this, despite her happiness. "Where are we going?"

"To the entrance at the Rue Scribe. There's no need for you to carry all those heavy packages when I'm right here to help you out." Presently, the brougham stopped just at the Rue Scribe entrance, at which point Raoul helped Angelique down onto the street before taking her packages into his arms. 

"You're quite kind, Raoul. Can I assume that you also know something about the lake and the house as well?" They walked together towards the entrance, and Raoul laughed rather loudly.

"Know something? My dear, I was a guest in the torture chamber for a bit!"

"My! Then I suppose you won't mind helping me put these packages in the boat? They really are quite dreadfully heavy." Smiling, she led Raoul into the darkness. 

As they approached the dock, Angelique was surprised to see that her boat bore a passenger. Erik was sitting, waiting for her as if it was something he always did. Angelique grinned, then fumbled in her pocket for the key.

In the boat, Erik's heart sank for a moment. It couldn't be…why was his beloved Angelique walking with the Vicomte de Chagny? Where was Christine? And for the love of music, what were they both doing smiling so grandly? Erik's fists clenched unconsciously. If that boy took another woman from him, so help him, he wasn't responsible for the consequences. Silently as a statue, Erik watched her search for the key. Afraid to move or talk, he sat watching them.

It couldn't possibly be what he was thinking. Who knew better than he that his dear Angelique didn't like men like Raoul? She liked intelligent men, men who…who… Cursing silently, Erik looked at them, attempting to control the massive surge of jealousy that was flooding his body. Raoul was carrying her packages, but where was Christine? He professed to love her so much more than Erik did, where was she now? Was he afraid that she would run back to him the moment Raoul's back was turned?

"Erik, what are you doing here?" Having unlocked the gate at last, Angelique approached him with a smile. Putting her arms around him, she kissed his cheek with a tenderness that drove all thoughts of jealousy out of his mind. "I thought you were at home, darling." As she spoke, Raoul wordlessly placed her packages into the boat, keeping an eye on Erik as he did so. Looking up at him, Erik regarded the young man.

"Good evening, Monsieur le Vicomte," he spoke quite cordially to Raoul, who returned the smile with a small bow. "I take it you are well?"

"Quite, thank you. And yourself?"

"I cannot complain." This strained, polite dialogue went on for a moment, and Angelique found it increasingly tiresome.

"Although I did not expect to see you here, Erik." Standing just near the gate, Raoul smiled broadly at the masked man. 

"Ah, well, life is full of pretty little surprises, is it not?" Finally rising from his seat, Erik extended a hand to Angelique, who took it eagerly and stepped into the boat. "You will give my regards to Christine, won't you?" 

"I shall," Raoul said as the boat began to move slowly through the waters. "I'm sure she will be quite pleased."

"Yes," Erik murmured absently as they left Raoul standing behind on the dock. Blinking, Angelique looked at Erik. 

"Aren't you going to lock the gate?"

"I trust that he will do it before he departs. I doubt he has any further desire to see the inside of our house." The addition of 'our' to his usual mention of the little house across the lake caused Angelique's heart to beat a little faster. "How did you happen to meet the Vicomte de Chagny?"

"Oh, is he a Vicomte?" Raising her eyebrow, Angelique smiled. "He must have thought me terribly rude. Oh well…I met him several years ago, when MM Firmin and Andre were being less than kind about my stumbling into the theatre. This afternoon, he just happened to be at the Opera Populaire, dropping off some fund for tonight's performance." Rifling through one of the packages as she spoke, Angelique looked up. "Quite a nice man, though he's much too pretty for my tastes."

"Yes, quite." Seemingly lost in thought, Erik looked out over the water as he spoke to her. Angelique turned to him, frowning.

"Why are you so quiet?" This earned her a shake of the head from Erik, and she placed her hands on her hips. "Erik," she said impatiently. Her reward was a cryptic look from him, and she began to get exasperated. "Erik!"

"You may remember yesterday when I went up to the Opera Populaire to collect my salary?" Taking a little tin of peppermints from his jacket, he offered it to Angelique. Wrinkling her nose, she took one to be polite. These were the oddest mints she had ever tasted, but she could never bring herself to tell Erik that she thought they were too strong. "The managers informed me that it was not ready. When I inquired as to what they meant, they further informed me that the theatre stopped paying my salary months ago, that it was now being funded by an outside source." Placing one of the chalky white mints into his mouth, Erik tucked the tin away. "Unless I do not receive my salary tonight, I believe I have unraveled the mystery of my new benefactor." At that moment, Angelique began coughing. "Are you quite well, my dear?"

"It's just the mint," she gasped as he patted her back gently. "It was a bit strong, and…" Stopping for a moment, her eyes widened considerably. "Good heavens…I think I've swallowed it whole." This elicited a roar of laughter from Erik's side of the boat, and she looked indignant. "I see you don't care a whit for my well-being."

"Of course I do, my dear. But I don't know why you continue eating the mints if you don't like them." The boat continued on its way to the house across the lake, and Angelique blushed as she tried to defend her eating of the mints. 

Near the Rue Scribe, however, Raoul still stood on the dock. Slowly, with a sweeping gesture, he removed his hat and bowed to the emptiness.

__

Bravo, Erik. If anyone deserves it, it's you.

* * *

Although Angelique had been given the option of walking into the theatre in order to greet her patrons, she had chosen to take the long way through the walls in her fancy new dress. However, Erik made certain that not a single speck of dust fell onto her lovely gown. They emerged into Box Five from the pillar, and Erik carefully removed her cloak as she moved towards the armchair. Sitting lightly on the chair, Angelique laughed a little and he turned to her.

"What is it?"

"I was just thinking about the first time I was here. Were you watching me from within the walls?" Her gentle eyes were smiling, and Erik felt himself turn red beneath the mask. He had hoped she would never find out about it.

"Perhaps for a moment or two." Trying to avoid saying too much, he sat next to her in the chair and reached up to the shelf of the box. There was a rather large envelope laying there, addressed to the 'attention of O.G.' Smiling, he tucked it into his pocket. "Are you excited about tonight?"

"Very much so," she said, standing up and wandering over to the edge of the box. Looking out over the crowd of people, she once again found herself wondering what they were saying to each other. Perhaps they were talking about the weather, or maybe about the fact that the Opera Populaire didn't seem to be making as much money as it used to. Were they chatting about one another's clothing or about the quality of life? She supposed at least some of them were as excited as she about the opera as she and Erik, but she doubted that anyone was as nervous as she was. For some reason, Erik seemed to be calmer than her about the whole thing, and she paced back and forth. Noticing her discomfort, Erik stood up and pulled her closer to him. 

"Relax, my dear. Everything will be perfect, I'm certain of it." The sensation of his arms folding around her seemed to set her world right again, and Angelique lay her head on his chest. She liked listening to his heart beating. The slow, regular thunder that emanated from within was soothing, and she closed her eyes. Erik laughed, sending a deep rumble through his chest. "I'm sure they're all down there wondering what sort of scene I shall cause tonight."

"And what sort of scene will you be causing?" With a tiny smile, Angelique looked up at him. Returning the smile, Erik led her over to her chair. 

"Would you like me to cause a scene?" Glancing out over the audience, Erik could see some of the patrons stealing glances up at the chandelier. Did they really think he would destroy another one before the show had even started?

"Only if you must. I wouldn't want to ruin the premiere of our magnificent new opera. I can't believe it's actually happening. Ever since I was a child, I wanted to give people something that would make them feel the way I do about music. I keep hoping that this will be the music that makes them understand." Angelique's eyes traveled over the empty stage and up to the chandelier.

Below, someone came into the theatre and informed the patrons that the show would be starting momentarily. The crowd began to move towards their seats, and Angelique pressed her hands to her throat as the blood rushed up into her cheeks.

"Erik," she murmured softly, her voice sounding as if she were being strangled. "We can't go through with this…what if they hate it? What if everything we've gone through and done for this opera is for nothing?" Nearly jumping to her feet, Angelique reached for the bell pull. "We have to get Mme Giry to stop it!"

"Calm down, my dear. Everything will be fine." Reaching over, Erik grabbed her arm and sat her back into her chair. "I know that everyone will love our opera just as much as we do." His eyes bored into hers, and Angelique shook her head.

"I can't…I don't think…what if they…" Her breathing was ragged, and her blue eyes were darting back and forth nervously. Erik's hand was firm on her arm, not allowing her to move. For a moment he considered trying to hypnotize her with his voice as he usually did to people who were trying his patience, but he had found out once before that Angelique was one of the few people whose will was too strong for him to bend in any way.

"Sit down, please." The sound of his voice was enough to make her calm down a little, but her hands were shaking. Gently patting her hand, he directed her attention to the stage. "Look, the curtain is going up. It's too late to stop it now." Her face was still riddled with concern, and Erik reached up to touch her face. "Angelique, you of all people should know that I'm the worst critic you could possibly have. If I say that it's good, that's all you should need to give you confidence."

"Certainly aren't modest, are you?" A small tremor worked its way through her body, and Erik kept his hand in place on her cheek. Her eyes were focused on the stage, where a facade of Notre Dame Cathedral was standing watch over the singers. After a few moments, she relaxed back into her seat. The crowd below seemed to be giving their opera a favorable reaction, and she actually allowed herself a little smile.

On the stage, the tenor playing Quasimodo shuffled into the scene. Looking a little closer, Angelique nodded pleasantly. The costume designers had done a good job on the clothes and a truly decent job on the makeup. She couldn't wait to see what they had done with Esmeralda's outfits.

Next to her, Erik was only half-listening to the music and not looking at the stage at all. He was more occupied with watching her face as she examined the costumes and the settings. Nothing escaped her attention, not the flutist's tempo change, not the stumbling of the second row of the corps de ballet, not even the mezzo-soprano's single flat note. Each time something went even the slightest bit wrong, Angelique looked as if she were going to be ill. She was so involved with the music that Erik almost didn't dare to take her hand. 

The moment his skin touched hers, she jumped about a foot into the air. Realizing that it was only Erik, she relaxed again and squeezed his hand. Their eyes made contact for an instant, and she blushed a little. Turning back to the stage, she scooted to the edge of her seat. It was time for the soprano's solo, and if that silly woman ruined the aria they had worked so hard on. 

It was without a doubt one of the most difficult things they had ever written, and not just because of the triple-dotted eighth notes and constantly changing meter. Writing the beautiful, haunting song as the Gypsy woman sang to the saints of the church and asked them for sanctuary had been terribly painful, especially to Angelique. The last time she had set foot in a church was the day that her parents had been buried, and writing a song in which the soloist sang about trust and hope was quite difficult. 

Most of both of their lives had been so devoid of both elements that for a while they had considered cutting the song completely. But one night, Angelique had awoken in the darkened house with a sudden feeling of terror wrapped around her as tightly as a spider's cocoon. Leaping from her bed, she started down the hall towards Erik's room. Before she even had a chance to get halfway down the hall, he had emerged from his room to see her running down the hall. Not even questioning her fear, he had led her into the study and began playing some soft, relaxing songs on the piano while she read some poetry or scribbled a few lines on the paper. 

All of a sudden it had come to her. Ever since she had come to live with Erik, Angelique had been forced to put all her trust in him to keep her safe. From the trust that he inspired came the hope that had been missing in her life since her parents died, and that night she had written the entire aria. As she listened to the soprano's clear, pure voice singing the notes she had so carefully penned, she realized that she still placed all her trust in Erik. And he had never given her any reason not to trust him. Even if it was at a terrible cost to him, he never failed to keep her from harm. Sometimes it seemed as if he were too protective, but now she could see that it was just because he loved her. 

Looking over at him, Angelique could see his eyes locked onto the stage from behind the mask. He was so intent on watching the opera that she wondered if he even remembered that she was there with him. Once again, however, Erik proved her wrong by immediately turning his full attention to her.

"Is something wrong? Would you like a drink or a cushion?" As always, he was eager to make her comfortable, and Angelique shook her head.

"No…no, I'm fine. Just…thinking…" Refocusing her attention on the soloist below, she smiled a little. He was always so kind to her, even when she was the most frightful brat. Although how he could possibly love a girl like her was still a complete mystery to Angelique. Then again, most of the things that Erik did were a mystery.

Beside her, Erik couldn't take his eyes from her. Wearing the new dress and shoes he had bought her, she looked spectacular. But even if she had been wearing one of her old, cotton dresses she would have been beautiful. He had offered to buy her some jewels, or let her wear some of the magnificent pieces he had acquired over the years, but she had refused as gently as she always did. Handing him back the diamond-encrusted bracelet, she had told him that she preferred to wear just the bracelet he had given her so many years previous.

Now, as she raised her hand to point out an inaccuracy in the jester's costume, the light from the chandelier glinted off the tiny gold heart that dangled from the chain that circled her slender wrist. When he was a boy, his mother had worn the same bracelet once in a while. It had been given to her by his father, before Erik had even been born. It was a bit strange though, that the bracelet which had once been so close to the hands that had beaten him was still intact and around the wrist of a woman who had never touched him with any intention except kindness and love. Even then, Angelique reached over unconsciously to touch his arm, her face touched with worry. Gently, he patted her hand to comfort her, but didn't say a word. She was still entranced by the opera that was being given down on the stage. 

They really had done quite a good job on the costumes. And even those wretched little ballet dancers seemed to be holding their own tonight. Yes, he would most certainly have to send the managers a favorable letter about this performance. Glancing over at Angelique, he saw that her face had lit up with excitement as the soprano's high pianissimo rang through the theatre. A very favorable letter indeed.

* * *

Intermission came, and Angelique took this opportunity to hurry downstairs to the powder room. While she was gone, Erik opened the envelope that was marked for his attention. Carefully inspecting the contents, he was pleasantly surprised to find that it was not his usual twenty thousand francs, but that an extra five thousand was to be found inside the paper folds. Wondering whether this was the work of the illustrious Vicomte de Chagny, he stuffed the envelope into his cloak. Perhaps Angelique would have a nice new cloak. Her tastes weren't as fine as his, but maybe it was time to work on that. Personally, he thought she would look quite lovely in furs.

Most of the patrons had already gone out to get a glass of champagne or use the restroom, and Erik stood up to look over his theatre. It was beautiful. Always had been, since the day he first watched it being built. Even now, years after its construction, the Opera Populaire was like a child to him. Just as he had told Nadir, it was a labor of love, just as his nurturing of Christine's natural talent had been. Now that their opera was finished, what would he put all his energy into now…all his love?

"For heaven's sake! Those people down there are like animals!" Hurrying into Box Five, Angelique looked back worriedly, as if someone might have followed her. "I mentioned to a lady in the powder room that I was Mlle DuBain, and it was like a riot began! People were crowding me, asking for my autograph…I was just lucky that when I started up here they were all too scared to follow me." Although she was complaining, Erik could see just how pleased she was with the success of their opera.

"Did I not tell you that everything would be perfect?" Moving over to where she was, he held out his arms to her. Right away, Angelique hurried to embrace him. The slight weight of her little body hit him full in the chest, and he enfolded her in his arms. "My dear Angelique," he began slowly, trying to figure out what to tell her. "Ever since you came to me in this theatre, I knew there was something special about you. Now, I simply don't know how I could ever even consider living without you."

"Erik dear, I feel the same way." Though she was a great deal shorter than him, Angelique pulled herself onto her tiptoes and kissed Erik's cheek. "I do hope you aren't worried that I'm going to leave you now that the opera is finished."

"Only a bit," he confessed softly. Shaking her head, Angelique reached up to touch his face lovingly.

"You never need worry about that, dearest. As long as I live, we shall never be separated." As she gently stroked his chin, a head popped through the curtain at the back of Box Five. Startled, the couple in the box pulled away from one another, Angelique's face burning a bright pink. It was a moment before they realized it was Mme Giry.

"Forgive me for interrupting," she said, looking back and forth between them. "I was sent to ask Monsieur if he would be willing to speak to the managers for a moment regarding his salary." Her face was pale, and Angelique gave Erik a look as she reached out to grab his arm. Placing his hand onto hers, he met her worried gaze with a smile and started out of the box.

"I shall return momentarily," he said, disappearing into the hallway like a shadow. Mme Giry was left in the box with the younger woman. They regarded one another for a moment before Angelique moved to sit down. It seemed as if the tension would never end, and Mme Giry cleared her throat.

"My dear mademoiselle, I don't know what power you have over him, but it is truly amazing. I can't remember when I've ever known him to be in such good spirits when dealing with the managers." Smiling, the old woman started out of the box. "You must be an angel." 

"What did you…" Turning towards the back of the box, she found that Mme Giry had made her getaway just as smoothly as Erik had. Shaking her head, she picked up her programme and turned the pages slowly. It was true, she knew it for a fact that whenever the words 'Firmin,' 'Andre,' or any combination of the two came up in a sentence, Erik immediately slipped into an absolutely vile humor. But tonight he had gone to the office without so much as an ill word. It couldn't possibly just be the fact that their opera was going so well. What on earth did that man have on his mind?

* * *

The second act had already begun by the time Erik made it back from the office, but Angelique didn't worry too much about it. Before too long, the curtains at the back of the box rustled a bit, and a familiar shape settled into the armchair beside her. Smiling, she turned toward him.

"Was something the matter? Why did they want to see you?" Her hushed tones still seemed a bit too loud, and Erik shook his head.

"It seems that someone has seen fit to give me a bit of a raise." Even in the low light, she could see that he was smiling broadly. As he looked at her, Angelique's face lit up in the dark. "Perhaps we could get a kitten. Would you like that, my dear?"

"A kitten! What on earth would we do with a kitten?" Grinning, Angelique reached over to place her hand on his. "Can't we talk about this later?"

"Of course, of course!" Settling back in his chair, Erik looked out over the stage. "I simply thought it a nice idea."

"It's a wonderful idea, Erik. I had no idea you liked animals." Breaking away from the opera that was still unfolding before them, Angelique looked over at him.

"As a matter of fact, I'm quite fond of them." A faraway look came into Erik's eyes, and he looked as if he were trying to remember and forget something at the same time. "When I was a boy, my mother had a little dog…she was my only true friend. Animals, you see, cannot tell the difference between beauty or ugliness. To them, any hand that reaches down in friendship or kindness is completely deserving of all their affection. Sincerest affection, you must understand, not the kind that is there one day and gone the next." His eyes turned back to her, and a smile spread over his face. "But of course, you're right. We shall talk about this later."

"A kitten," Angelique murmured softly. She had never had a pet before, never even mentioned one. What on earth had made him bring up buying a kitten? Before she could ask him anything else, she realized that Erik was fixated on the opera again. Deciding that this discussion could definitely wait until later, she turned back towards the stage. Esmeralda and Phoebus were singing their magnificent duet, and Erik reached over to take her hand once more. He had become so used to her touch that it was almost like a drug to him. A few moments without the precious warmth her hand afforded him, and he was already missing her terribly. 

Somehow, she understood this without his having to say a thing, and gently tightened her grip on his fingers. Biting her lip with a smile, they shared a glance before turning their separate attentions back to the opera. 

This was one of Erik's favorite things about her when they were together; Angelique was always sneaking little glances at him, whether she thought he could see her or not. It was as if she couldn't get enough of being with him, and to Erik this was a tremendous boost to the ego. And when you were his age, looking the way he did, there were precious few opportunities for his ego to be boosted.

Slipping his hand into his jacket pocket, he toyed with the little object he had placed there earlier. It seemed as if there was going to be no right time to give it to her, and talking with those idiotic managers had taken away nearly all of their time at intermission. Wondering how they would react to a few harmless pranks, Erik smiled. 

"I know what you're thinking, and it's terrible." Giving him a little nudge, Angelique shook her head. "But if you want to give those insufferable twits a little fright, I certainly wouldn't stop you." A small, impish grin spread over her face, and Erik laughed a bit too loudly. Some of the ballet girls looked pointedly up at Box Five, their little faces frightened and thrilled at the same time. In the front row, MM Firmin and Andre began to look a bit unsettled, but the opera went on as planned.

The third act approached with startling rapidity, and they had both decided that it was probably a good idea to leave the serious tricks for later. Although, of course, the matter of making M Firmin's seat cushion speak to him couldn't really be called a serious trick. But it had given him quite a delightful start when the red velvet lining of the seat began entreating him to take a lighter lunch every once in a while. Still, once the music was over, the managers were most certainly fair game. 

Before either of them realized it, the final scene was upon them. The last notes were sung, the final bows taken, and the voices shouting praise from Box Five were more than enough encouragement for even the shyest of chorus girls to take another trip to the front of the stage. The ovations seemed to go on forever, and the shouted requests for an encore echoed long and loud through the rafters. Turning to Erik, Angelique pressed her hands together.

"We're a hit!" Laughing excitedly, she threw her arms around Erik, who was still clapping for the chorus girls. The force of her embrace nearly threw him off balance, and he laughed gently as he put his arms around her. 

"It appears that we are at that. Perhaps these people actually do know what they're listening to." Together, they looked over the main theatre as the girls finished bowing. Arms wrapped protectively around her, Erik motioned to the stage. "Look, it appears we're going to have some entertainment."

"Entertainment?" Wondering a bit about what on earth he was talking about, she turned to look at the stage. Messieurs Firmin and Andre had gotten up onto the stage and were smiling broadly over the audience.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," M Andre began with a smile, "We would like to thank you all for coming tonight to see this magnificent opera." He was beaming so greatly that it looked as if his face would crack right in half.

"What exactly is that man on about?" A bit amused, Erik looked a little closer at the stage as M Firmin opened his mouth.

"As you know, we do absolutely everything we can to bring you the finest operas from all over the world, and we hope that you have enjoyed the one we have given you this evening. As a matter of fact, this particular composer was discovered by M Montcharmin and myself quite a few years ago."

"What?" The tone of Angelique's voice was nothing short of disbelief, and the managers continued. 

"In fact, we firmly believe that if it weren't for our intervention, she couldn't possibly have been as successful as she is now." As they spoke, Erik sighed deeply. He should have known they would try to take credit for Angelique's great triumph. One look at the expression on her face, and he knew he had to do something. 

"Will you excuse me for a moment, my dear?" There was no response from her, and Erik disappeared at once into the pillar. His voice, however, echoed from within the wall. "Keep an eye on the stage, won't you?"

Not sure what he meant, Angelique looked over at the managers. Tears of pure rage were welling up into her eyes, and she swiped at them with clenched fists. How dare they tell the patrons that they had intervened with her? For years, they had run her out of their theatre, been completely rude to her, thrown her music into the bin, and now they wanted to take credit for her? To even assume that she would allow them to take minimal commendation for her and Erik's triumph was beyond ludicrous, and she watched the managers taking bows with thinly veiled hatred.

In the rows and rows of seats below, the patrons were clapping…for the managers? Angelique wanted to cry, she was so angry. Of course the audience would believe the idiots, she and Erik weren't down there to defend themselves. How dare they take her bows? This had been her dream since she was a small child, and…

Before she could get any angrier, there was a loud crash onstage as the huge model of Notre Dame Cathedral fell forward onto the stage, landing just a few feet behind MM Firmin and Andre. Both men looked as if they were going to have heart attacks, and several gasps arose from the crowds of onlookers. M Andre raised his hands in an attempt to calm them down.

"Please, ladies and gentlemen, it was merely an accident. Perhaps the set wasn't properly tied…" Taking a few steps toward the stairs, Andre was stopped in his tracks as one of the sandbags used for ballast fell from the rafters with a thump just a few inches before his feet. "…down," he finished weakly. Erik's signature laughter began to ring through the theatre, causing the patrons to look about nervously and move slowly away from the giant chandelier, just in case history should repeat itself.

"J-just an a-accident…" M Firmin wiped his brow, his voice shaking. A second sandbag fell before his feet, and the managers exchanged glances. Backing away from the fallen weight, M Andre looked around.

"Perhaps…we weren't quite…accurate in our words." His face was already quite pale, and he looked into the rafters. "Some of our facts…" Another sandbag fell heavily, a few millimeters from his toes, causing the wooden floor beneath his feet to tremble a bit. "Quite a few of our facts…" Taking a moment to make sure that another sandbag wasn't going to fall on his head, M Andre paused. "…were erroneous." 

While the managers babbled furiously on about their mistake and attempted to give their humblest apologies to thin air, Erik reappeared in Box Five. He was grinning like a madman, and Angelique nearly knocked him over as she leapt into his arms.

"I take it you were amused?"

"It was wonderful! Thank you so much, Erik dear!" Hugging him tightly, she listened to the managers gush about her talent. "Didn't you want any credit? After all, you did write the lyrics."

"Just seeing you smile is credit enough for me. Besides, I get all the acclaim I need and more by being the 'Phantom of the Opera,' as it were." A pleased smile crossed his lips as he heard the managers ask for an ovation in honor of Mademoiselle Angelique DuBain, and he gently pushed her towards the balcony. "Let them see you for a moment. It will make their night."

"Oh, I don't know…" Shaking her head, she tried to resist. "That's really not…"

"Go. They're clapping for you." It was true. Even though they couldn't see her, the people were clapping wildly for her. As she stepped to the front of Box Five to wave to the patrons, they turned to see her and began to clap even harder. Angelique was embarrassed by the attention and didn't exactly know what to do.

"Thank you," she said softly, realizing that no one was able to hear her. "Thank you so much." The clapping continued, even after her figure disappeared from their view. Finally, the applause died down and the patrons left the theatre buzzing about the opera. However, Angelique and Erik remained in Box Five for quite some time, silently appraising the theatre and the performance. 

Presently Erik turned to Angelique, who was sitting beside him in the second armchair. She looked as if nothing could possibly make her happier, and Erik cleared his throat a bit too loudly.

"Is something wrong?" Immediately turning to him, she reached over to touch his hand gently. Erik shook his head, smiling.

"Not at all. I was just wondering if you had given any more thought to that kitten I mentioned earlier." Surreptitiously, he reached into his pocket as Angelique nodded.

"Yes. I think it's a wonderful idea. When I was little, I always wanted one but I never could have one. To be honest, I can't think of anything that could possibly make me happier than for us to get a kitten." 

"Really?" With a flick of his wrist, Erik produced a small box covered in black velvet out of thin air. "Not even this?" Angelique looked at him, confused, as he placed the box into her hands and closed her fingers around it.

"What is this?" Frowning a little, she turned the box over and over in her hands. Beside her, Erik was practically glowing with pride.

"Open it." He leaned over to her as she opened the little box and got her first glimpse of the contents. Angelique gasped softly as she pressed a hand to her throat. "What do you think?"

"It's…it's a ring?" Unbelieving, she simply stared at the ring that was nestled into the black velvet of the box. "What is this?"

"A simple question." Taking the box from her hand again, he inspected the ring carefully. It was beautiful, a single flawless black pearl in a delicate setting complete with little strands of ivy curled around the base of the jewel. And it was tiny, sized perfectly to fit her finger. A certain finger. "When you said you didn't want to leave me…"

"I meant it with all my heart." Her heart was pounding harder than she ever thought possible, and Erik looked at the ring again.

"Then you wouldn't be…unhappy living with me?"

"I haven't so far, have I?" Gently smiling up at him, Angelique reached over to take his hand. "Why should I start now?" Her eyes were searching his for something, although she wasn't sure what. Erik had never been so nervous in his life.

"Angelique, you know that since the day I saw you sitting in my opera box, in my chair, I knew I had to see you again. And once I saw you again, I had to see you the day after and the day after until I couldn't imagine being separated from you. Now, I still can't imagine it." While he spoke, his eyes kept darting back and forth between her face and the ring in his hand. He could feel her eyes on his face, and pulled his head up so that he could look directly in to her eyes. "My darling, please tell me that you'll never make me have to experience that pain." 

"Erik…"

"Please, Angelique…say you'll never leave me. That we shall always be together, just as we are now." Taking her shaking hand in his, Erik noticed once again just how tiny it was compared to his own. "Say that you'll be my wife, and that you will love me always as you love me now."

"Y-your wife?" Thousands of images flooded through her mind, of candles and white satin, roses and music boxes, music and laughter…warm, deep laughter… The images all began to spin into one another, the sound of his laughter standing out above all else. Tears began to fall over her cheeks as she nodded happily. "Of…of course I'll be your wife!" Nearly jumping over her chair, Angelique threw her arms around his neck. A wave of relief washed over him as he felt her warm tears falling onto his exposed cheek.

"My dearest…you don't know just how happy you've made me," he said softly. Angelique nodded slowly as she pulled away from him. Carefully, Erik reached down and brought her hand up to his lips before gently slipping the ring onto her finger. Her hand was shaking like a leaf in autumn as she held her hand out to look at the ring, then got up from her seat. Erik stood up as well, and as she went over to him she reached up to remove his mask. Setting it up on the shelf, Angelique pulled herself up to kiss his lips softly. As they parted slowly, Erik's voice was no more than a whisper. "I love you so much, my angel."

"And I love you, my darling." Gently kissing him again, Angelique smiled hopefully up at him. "We're still getting the kitten, aren't we?"

Once more, Erik's laughter rang through the theatre, but it wasn't the same wild laughter that the managers had become so accustomed to listening for. This was laughter of pure joy, and a few moments later her light laughter mingled with his and created a music that echo through the halls of the Opera Populaire for years and years to come. 

The next day, under mysterious circumstances, Messieurs Firmin and Andre announced their joint retirement from the world of the Paris Opera.


	10. Epilogue

Epilogue

1902

It was gray and rainy, as if the heavens were in despair, and a cool wind blew across the rigid figures of the tombstones in the cemetery until it was caught in the folds of black material that comprised a woman's dress. The wind rustled her dress around her ankles, but she didn't look up.

Though she could no longer be considered a young woman, her face was only beginning to bear the lines of age. Her figure, though a little wider in the hips and waist, was the same as it had been twelve years earlier, and she wrapped her arms around herself tightly in a mournful embrace.

"I know you wouldn't want me to cry," she said softly, tears welling up in her eyes. "You'd say that I had more important things to do right now, and that I have to be strong." A bunch of red roses was in her arms, clutched to her chest protectively. "I really don't know why I'm so upset, we both knew it was going to happen sooner or later. I suppose I was just hoping it would be later."

The block of black granite that sat before her was silent, motionless in the chill of winter. She hadn't expected it to speak to her, not really, but she had hoped a little bit that it would make her feel a bit less lonely. 

Fighting back her tears, she reached down to place the roses on the foot of the grave. The meager light that snuck around the edges of the clouds caught the slim gold band on her left ring finger and made it sparkle for a brief moment before disappearing within the clasp of her hands.

"There's a house…right near here, actually…that I was looking at. It's really very pretty. I know you would have loved it." Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she knelt down to press her cheek to the cold, unyielding granite. Her slender fingers traced the lines of the name on the tombstone, all the time wondering what she would do now.

Near the entrance of the graveyard, a man waved to her. She was so wrapped up with touching the stone that she didn't even notice, and the man shook his head, the hair almost completely gray. The last thing he wanted to do was disturb her, but it looked like rain and he knew Erik would never forgive him if she became ill.

"Angelique," he said, coming up behind her. "Come along, dear, it looks like rain." Pulling herself up, Angelique turned to him with a sad smile. Her grief hadn't made her any less lovely, and she looked back at the gravestone.

"Thank you for bringing me here, Nadir." A distant look came into her eyes, and Nadir nodded. "I haven't been here since we…since he…" Unable to say the words, she simply looked back at the grave.

"Passed on," Nadir offered, sadly. "Yes, me either. It's rather hard to believe that he's actually gone. I suppose that some part of me always thought that he would live forever, although I knew it was impossible." Gradually, his rheumy green eyes traveled towards the stone. "He was a good friend."

"You were his only friend, you know." Smiling again, Angelique ran her hand over the top of the tombstone. "But he did love you, I think. He just had such odd ways of showing it." Nadir said something softly in his native tongue, and even though Angelique could barely hear it or even understand it, she nodded her assent.

"What will you do now? I mean, you can't possibly live down there forever. There are other things to consider now." Trying to hide the tears in his eyes, Nadir looked up at Angelique's face. She shook her head slowly.

"Yes, I know. He made provisions for this…he left me a considerable amount of money, and Raoul is going to continue paying me half of his former salary. He says Christine wants it that way." Reaching down to touch the ring on her finger sadly, she managed a little smile. "They're fine people." For lack of anything better to say, Nadir nodded his agreement.

"We'd best be going now, before it starts to rain. You can't afford to be sick now, and Rene will be missing you." Taking her arm gingerly, Nadir began leading her towards the brougham where Darius waited patiently. "Your son is truly exceptional, you know. Just the other day, he was playing me a bit of a song he was writing."

"Mm." Absently, she smiled. "He's taking it awfully well. Sometimes it frightens me that he's so bright. I mean, he's barely five and writing songs for his father and painting pictures of me…he's…so much like Erik."

"Then he will be a truly exceptional child." Remembering the stories he had heard of Erik's childhood, Nadir smiled. At least she would have her son to give her comfort. A fat drop of rain fell onto his olive skin, and he looked up with some annoyance. "I believe Allah is giving us the signal to go home." Opening the door of the brougham, Nadir offered a hand to Angelique to help her into the cab. Closing the door, he went over to his own side and climbed in just before the drops of rain became a full downpour.

Looking back at the grave before it became lost in the heavy sheets of rain, Angelique closed her eyes. He wasn't truly gone. As long as she loved him, he could never truly be gone. This knowledge made her feel a bit safer, and Angelique leaned back on the plush seats of the brougham. Tears finally began to stream down her cheeks as she whispered goodbye to her husband.

In the silent graveyard, drops of rain ran down the sides of the tombstone like tears, slipping into the cracks and outlining the words in shining silver.

Erik

1831~1902

"Fate links thee to me for ever and a day."


End file.
